The Shadow You Can't Escape
by Zizalada
Summary: Part 2 of the story of Sira Caronte, Imperial Dragonborn and former "professional flirt" from the bad side of Anvil. She's now famous, wealthy, stronger, but only a bit more disciplined - and nowhere as cunning as she thinks she is. She must face that with titles and honors comes responsibility. Set 6 months after the end of A Stranger in a Mask.
1. Excessive entanglement

_"If you have enemies, good_ _  
that means you stood up for something."_

\- Eminem

 _"There is no avoiding war; it can only be postponed to the advantage of others."_

\- Niccoló Machiavelli

* * *

 _Restita had not been particularly smart nor particularly talented. Polite, gullible, and slightly slow to get the joke, she was constantly miscalculating the price of fabrics, and her loose threads were almost never tidy. Madame Sienna, the owner, would always complain that Restita would never amount to more than a modest clerk, not unless she "perked up"._

 _Yet, Sira envied her so! Sira felt she was all sharp angles, and abrupt contrasts: overgrown legs, broad shoulders, black hair that made her skin appear pale to the point of sickness, a pointy chin and long nose that magnified every expression, and thick eyebrows which seemed to trust no one by default. Meanwhile, Restita's natural expression was that of demure joy. Her waist was slim, her figure delicate, her hair soft and brown, her jaw slim enough to make her look girlish and defenceless. Her voice had an undeniable low-class twang to it, but was chipper and musical._

 _Despite her constant, occasionally costly, mistakes, Sienna would not fire Restita: her easy-going manner were an asset for them on their own way. Sira could not bring herself to be openly mean to her either, and instead chose to befriend Restita as much as possible, seeking to copy her mannerisms and improve them with her own forged refinement. If she could cultivate such an air of innocence without becoming truly stupid, Sira thought, she could own the world and anyone on it._

 _"_ _You keep working at such fine dresses, Sira, and some day you'll own a workshop just like this one – and have a Restita working the counter for you." Said their boss, one evening. "In the meantime, dear, don't slouch, it makes you look like the clumsy one."_

 _As they grew up, of course, Restita's charm began to count for more, especially after her involvement with General Caius. By then, Sira and Restita had spent four years in each other's company, to the point the latter would introduce Sira to young men as "my adopted sister". Maybe that's why Restita chose to let Sira know the secret behind all her lucrative new contracts, and definitely why she felt so hurt when Sira gawked at her revelation of sleeping with a married aristocrat._

 _"_ _Oh, would you at least attempt to hide that face of superiority! Of all people, how dare you!"_

 _"_ _Of all people? What is that supposed to mean?" Sira asked._

 _"_ _I mean, given that your mother was a..."_

 _"_ _Don't include her in this! How dare you! First you accuse me of being a bad friend, and now… I wasn't judging, I just don't want to see you hurt. I can't believe you think of me like that." Sira brushed a couple of not completely fake tears off her eyes._

 _"_ _Oh, no, Sira, don't cry! I'm really sorry I said that. Really. I don't know he got into me. I'm just… he loves me. He won't hurt me. His wife's rockjoint never subsides, he told me."_

 _The two young women hugged, promising each other eternal friendship. Restita was found dead just 10 days later, her face beaten to a bloody pulp, her slim waist sliced open, right after buying yet another apologetic sweet roll for Sira._

* * *

My cheeks had not felt so warm since I had left Cyrodiil. This time, however, I was not flustered from the sun or a dragon's breath – they burned in shame.

"All this sneaking around. It doesn't befit warriors of your standing. Aela knows better, and so should you."

Kodlak had found out about our attacks on the Silver Hand. Having grown up with no father and a useless mother, this was officially the first scolding of my life. It hurt.

"I… forgot myself. We had to avenge Skjor, honour demanded it, but then..."

"I'm sure it seemed so at first, but this has gone too far. I know your hearts grieved for him, and sometimes anger and violence is easier."

I felt a horrible impulse to be honest. The old man deserved to know about Aela and Skjor, about the horrified shriek of pain she gave when we found his body, about my own terrible feeling of guilt at having taken the blood and gave them an excuse for that stupid hunt. I couldn't not go along with Aela's plan of retaliation: for the first couple of weeks after Skjor's death, it was the only way I could bring myself to speak to my closest friend.

I dismissed the impulse. The old man deserved to know, but it was not my secret to tell. Likely, he'd known all along anyway. Fortunately, it seemed he felt it was time to be honest as well, and gave me the full story of how Terrfyg, a previous Harbinger, was fooled by the witches of Glenmoril Coven into accepting the blood – without knowing full payment for it would extend beyond death. And since clearly (for some reason) he believed in me, he offered me the chance to make up for my recent bloodlust:

"The witches' magic ensnared us, and only their magic can release us. They won't give it willingly, but we can extract their foul powers by force. I want you to seek them out. Go to their coven in the wilderness. Strike them down as a true warrior of the wild. And bring me their heads. The seat of their abilities. From there, we may begin to undo centuries of impurity."

As I walked towards the Whiterun Stables, my ears still red and burning, I thought my recent purchase of a destrier could've influenced his decision to send me. Clearly he wanted the witches dead as soon as possible. As I galloped west, I realised how much the landscape had changed in the nearly six months I had spent in Skyrim – and how much my own situation had.

It was early Sun's Dawn now. I had all but abandoned any hopes of scamming my way into a noble's manor, but it was hardly necessary now. Most guards would greet me as "Hail, Companion" now. I was Thane of two holds and a member of the Circle. Between contracts, minor side jobs, selling potions, and my near-compulsive looting of any and all bandit lairs (chronic hunger is hard to forget), I had more money than I ever expected to have.

Ever since that chaotic night outside Whiterun, I had killed seven more dragons and learned two more full shouts – and parts of other three. Whenever I visited a village or town close to where I'd battled a dragon, people would greet me with extra warmth. I was even beginning to control the wild impulses caused by all the beasts in my chest, although I could constantly feel them battling each other – and now, the wolf, which is not as easily satisfied as Aela would have it look like. Lycanthropy had its advantages, of course: for someone who's made an art of reading dispositions and gestures to determine how much I can get away with, there are fewer abilities as useful as being able to simply smell such evidence.

Even Vilkas had acknowledged I had been blessed by something more than blind luck, although he still scowled whenever he saw me talking to the old man or monopolizing his twin's attention - which I would always try to do whenever I felt he was looking.

The trip was eerily quiet and peaceful – other than a couple of necromancers just reaching North Brittleshin Pass, I went unmolested. They caught me completely unaware – it had been a while since I've been out on the road by myself. One of them nearly knocked me off Linea (which is not a stupid name for a destrier, Athis), but fortunately, my shield fell on his head when I nearly did. Right, so blind luck on my side, maybe.

I dearly hoped it would accompany me inside the witches' cave. Just one pair of hands suddenly meant not being able to carry a torch. I had to wait a good while, once inside, until my eyes would get used to the lack of light. The witches themselves were no big struggle – only one of them, who I had been unable to see in time, managed to scratch my face significantly. The other ones fell right away to my poisoned dagger to their throats. Surely that would've been considered dishonourable, had I not been alone.

Their heads on a sack, I decided to camp right there and then taking a detour to Falkreath on the way back to Whiterun. I could sell the necromancer's robes quite easily there, and pamper myself a little. After all, the wolf and the dragons demand blood, but the woman gets hungry too. Siddgeir, Jarl of Falkreath, with his frivolous chatter and warm – if brusque – hands, would more than suffice, even if he repelled the wolf and was regarded as inferior by the dragons.

Immature and sleazy, Siddgeir had made me Thane of his hold the way a trophy collector shops for something glossy thinking only of the display case they need to fill out. Somehow, I'd managed to place myself in two different cases – one upstairs, where he wined and dined me in his private chambers, and one downstairs, where he felt that parading his friendship with the Dragonborn would earn him points with his business associates. It mattered not: they were both flattering.

I've built a good life in Skyrim.

* * *

Maybe I felt I had slept too comfortably at Falkreath's Longhouse, and decided I did not deserve it. Maybe I got overconfident, or wanted to bask in the freedom of not having any shieldsiblings to supervise my honour. Maybe it was the monsters in my chest, who had learned of Alivar or were foreshadowing disaster. Maybe I just like to kill.

Does it matter? All it matters is three Thalmor were crossing a bridge, Talos worshipper in tow, and I felt I had to kill them. The Thalmor, I mean. I did not mean to hurt or scare their prisoner, but smallfolk always get scared of beast form. It's likely, too, that I did not hurt him at any point, and that it was the last Justiciar to who threw fire at him, to keep him from escaping – that's what the poor sod said he believed.

Does it matter? The man might still be alive, somewhere, but the burns in his face will never heal.

As soon as the skirmish was over, the prisoner thanked me for saving his life and ran off, sword arm raised high and voice trembling in fear. As my bones became human once again, I began to realise the extent of deep shit I was in. I'd given in to the wolf without a second thought, in broad daylight, and allowed a witness to escape. Seriously, Sira, way to go. How hard was to kill them as a human?

It took me a while to calm myself down and decide how to fix it. My helmet had covered most of my face and it was dark now, so maybe going back to my cheaper hide armorfor a while would be enough. The prisoner probably knew better than to tell anyone what he had just happened – why risk being recaptured by the Thalmor? As simple as going deep into the woods and staying out of sight for a night or two, until they can blame the murders on some loose Stormcloaks. Yes! It'd all be fine.

Returning to Jorrvaskr 4 days after I was supposed to was no big deal. I still wanted to sneak back into the city late at night, just as an extra precaution. I knew which section of the walls was the least manned one – although as I reached the stables, I realised none of the guards was at their post. Odd. Another dragon attack nearby? I would've been able to see the columns of smoke or mist in that case.

Once up the stairs to the Wind District, I found all the guards, staring at the Gildergreen. And my shield siblings, around corpses and small fires. The corpses carried silver swords.

NO! How could they! But they were all dead. Ria was crying on Athis' shoulder. Torvar was leaning against the door of Jorrvaskr, covering his eyes. He wasn't drunk. Aela was staring into empty space, motionless. She did not smirk. Everyone was wrong. Once inside, the twins and Njada were kneeling on Kodlak's body. NO!

I dumped the bag with the witches' heads on the floor. I stood next to Kodlak, looking around, finding nothing but grief – and an accusatory face. "Where the hell have you been? Who said you could just disappear? We've been attacked!"

"No… No, it can't be! I went west! I was doing his bidding! He sent me to…" To fetch some stinking heads and then go around feeling important and kill random people I met in the highway. Why?

"I don't care where he sent you. I hope it was important, because you weren't here to defend him!" His eyes and his fist were dangerously close to my face. If he'd tried to hit me, I would have let him.

"This cannot be. No, not now. Not when I just got him his damn cure!"

"What are you talking… He sent you to Glenmoril?" He seemed hurt by it. Not the time to fight for daddy's attention, though. Daddy lies dead on the floor, Vilkas, and I have no father. "No mind. They also made off with all our fragments of Wuuthrad."

"We can get them back..." I muttered, mostly to myself.

"I should have you do it, and with no weapon, and naked, so you'll finally learn something!"

That better be an empty threat. I dared not answer, but my hand reached may have moved towards my sword hilt out of instinct.

"No matter. We'll both go, and we will kill them all." He continued, the bile in his voice turning into hunger. "There will be none left living to sing their stories. Only songs about Jorrvaskr will be sung. We will avenge Kodlak."

A weird way to grieve, to think of bards and blood. I knew no other way, though. I nodded.

"Let's go then. They will know terror before the end."


	2. As hot as their blood

We still had an hour to go before dawn when we set off. Driftshade Refuge, the only Silver Hand fortress left, was a three-day trek away, but the pulsing vein in Vilkas' face would burst open by then. By the time we reached the gates, his fists had stopped opening back and forth, and were now only slightly shaking. For all his rage, he'd probably be too clumsy to break my nose, I told myself, and reached out to hold him by the wrist.

"Linea's already saddled and equipped for camping. She's not well rested, but will still be faster than going on foot."

"She won't resist long with both of our weights."

"Do you want the Silver Hand to live for three more days?"

He knew that meant more likely four, as the slightest delayed reflex or muscle cramp on our side would mean our deaths – and their lives. I didn't wait for a reply. Grief and anger are not the best allies for debate, so I just jumped on her and sat myself on the front edge of the saddle.

As soon as I felt him properly steadied behind me, I started galloping away as fast as I could. As we headed north, I felt the weight of his head on my neck – although his torso and arms were still kept at a marked distance, tensed up. I kept myself from any cheeky remarks or from trying to close it, and the heavy rain kept me from having to acknowledge the quiet sobs.

Vilkas's prediction came true in the late afternoon, only a mile before Fort Fellhammer. Good old Linea, as sturdy a destrier as there ever was, refused to keep walking. By then, the heavy rain had transformed into stormy winds, so we got off and looked for a defensible spot before tying her to a tree.

"We've covered two-thirds of the trip in less than a day, so we may as well." Vilkas announced, setting himself on a comfortable-looking spot.

His eyes were still swollen and his hands restless, so it felt right to take care of the fire and tent myself. During the past few months, Vilkas and I had managed to cease open hostilities, and had learned to be near each other in relative silence – he didn't seem to be one for small talk with anyone, really. This time, however, the pent up discomfort of grief was so thick it could be sliced with his greatsword. Or maybe he actually wanted to talk and seek comfort, and I fucked up worse.

At this point, it's too hard to tell.

After approximately half an hour of trying to smother some invisible monster with his left foot, he looked up at me at last.

"What are you up to?" He said, with a flat tone that obviously strived to be emotionless.

"Reliving my mistakes of the last few days. Care to help?"

"Not at all." He didn't even seem to notice the bait. Bad sign. "I do think I deserve to know why it took you so long to return home."

It suddenly struck me that, if the new Harbinger was to be chosen from within the circle, then he was the obvious choice. The sudden thought of resuming the "breakfast counsel" sessions I had enjoyed with Kodlak over the past few months, only now with Vilkas, made me felt oddly desolate.

"A series of bad decisions. Or just one of them, I'm not sure. You probably don't care right now, but I keep going through it in my head, it's driving me mad."

Let's see if this works out. There is something about atonement that appeals the honour-bound audience.

"It shouldn't have taken me more than 3 days, back and forth from Glenmoril. I told Kodlak as much, damnit! But I was already in the middle of the plains, on the way back, when I realised the scratch on my face wasn't healing right. It's stupid, I know, but it really felt like nothing, and if I had just taken 5 more minutes to clean it and rub some blue mountain flowers on it… Suddenly I'm all alone and I can't keep myself on Linea. I had to ask some farmer to help me to Falkreath. By then Grave Concoctions was closed, I had to go look for the priest!"

"The scratch on the side of your face? Looks hardly a thing."

"I know! And it felt like nothing, to get it done. I'm sure your war paint was more of a bother. Runil, that's the priest, he said the bloody witches may have poisoned their claws. He insisted on making me stay, something about them being known to use slow-acting venoms, and making sure I hadn't caught rattles or something."

"You know the beast blood would keep you from getting those, right?" He raised an eyebrow. I always forget this is the smart twin.

"Of course I do, but it didn't feel appropriate for him to know."

"Right. So while your home was being attacked by those bastards, you… had faced five witches powerful enough to have cursed us for 400 years, by yourself." He sighed, suddenly looking guilty. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"DON'T YOU DARE! Don't you dare say it's because Kodlak asked. That much is clear. But what makes you care so much about his requests? Why did he ask _you_? What was his crusade to _you_?" It had been a while since he last yelled at me – but could I blame him? He needed the release.

"Nothing, compared to what it was to you, I'm sure." I tried to keep my voice as emotionless as possible. "To me, he wasn't the father figure he was – is – to you. I would never presume as much. Your grief is not mine, they cannot be compared. And yet, I feel something. Will you allow me _that?_ "

He didn't respond. He just sat there, eyes on the floor, finger wringing. Actions over words rule Skyrim, Sira – but I had neither on my arsenal.

"I can't even begin to comprehend how you feel right now, Vilkas. I've never really lost anyone who meant as much to me, much less in such horrendous circumstances." I felt him wince. Bad strategy. I tried placing my arm around his shoulder for comfort. He let me. "After Aela lost Skjor..."

"We all lost Skjor" he interjected.

"Yes, but just as now, we didn't all lose him the same way. Either way, I can relate to losing a lover, so I feel I was more fit to be of use to Aela back then. Now… I don't know how you feel, but I can recognise the impulse to set the world ablaze. And I know you must do it. But I must make sure you don't burn yourself."

"Why? Let's not kid ourselves here, we've never…"

"You're not my favourite person, but you're my Shield-Brother. All families have all sorts of people. And you're Farkas' brother, and he needs his twin back in one piece. And the Companions cannot afford to lose its most experienced member just now. And my own grief and my own beast, which are nothing to yours, have their own demands as well. Just… let me hold the torch for you."

His breathing had steadied at last. He looked up to me, bloodshot eyes and congested nose.

"To Oblivion with you, silver-tongued Imperials. I'm supposed to be the eloquent one. Well, to each their own grief, then. I just want to go there and make them bleed. I want to see their pain. I need them to see it's me who invades their home and destroys their keep."

Some feelings don't need to be eloquent. The way his voice shook as he spoke sent shivers down my spine.

"To Oblivion with the Silver Hand then. Let's go."

* * *

It had been barely two hours of rest for Linea, but I pushed her to the limits. She could rest while we fought. We arrived at Driftshade Refuge a little before midnight, tied Linea to a tree and approached under cover of darkness.

Vilkas didn't seem willing to sneak or delay, but months of trying to avoid talking to each other even during life or death situations had given us the ability to communicate silently. There were only two guards at the gate, one male and one female. I snuck ahead of Vilkas and got a chokehold on the male guard, a fellow sturdy Nord, dragging him towards Vilkas. I smelled his satisfaction as he came face-to-face with the guard, slicing his belly open. By the time the second guard noticed his help was needed, Vilkas was ready to meet her.

While he finished her, I opened the keep's gate, leaving him an open route to storm in and slice open his own pain. We advanced from room to room, gutting anything that moved. For the most part there were only two or three Silver Hands on each room, as a testament of what little was left of them before their desperation led them to attack Jorrvaskr. I chose not to remark upon it – if Aela and I had not been clearing out their keeps for their past three months, Kodlak would not have been killed, I thought.

As we arrived to the cellar, I realised how wrong I had been. The sight of caged werewolves, some alive, some clearly killed after being subjected to torture, reminded me of the inevitability of this final showdown. The prisoners in front of us were clearly farmers, traders, and blacksmiths, not Companions – but still our brethren, in a way, and even more undeserving of the stench and gore around us.

A more delicate version of me (one still pretending to be an elegant woman) would probably have puked or fainted at the sight of the torture utensils and stretching racks. The version of me who wanted to bathe on her enemies' blood, on the other hand, felt the rush of anger elevating to that of righteous revenge.

The Silver Hand's cowardly leadership had taken shelter in the innermost room of Driftshade. All six of their most influential chieftains had locked themselves there with the fragments of Wuuthrad, no doubt hearing the slaughter that closed in on them.

We stalked behind their door for a few minutes, listening in and devising a strategy. They knew we would come. They gave the order, and let their minions die first. Vilkas raged, I wouldn't be able to hold him back for much longer – but I couldn't let him face all six of them at once.

"On the count of three, kick the gate open. We'll enter back to back, and be done with them as quickly as possible." I told him. "But if it becomes too much, just hit my elbow three times, and we'll give in. Together."

"Together, then. We'll eat their hearts out"

"One… two… THREE!"

Charred human flesh makes me think of Helgen. Raw human flesh is safe.

* * *

Once Vilkas slayed the last of the Silver Hand, we were left with an empty keep, deeply tired but still pumped full of aggression. There was dried blood all over our armours and skin, droplets of blood splattered on walls, puddles of more blood around the corpses we'd made – and yet, we were in no rush to leave.

Sunrise had come and passed – I had no idea how long ago. I healed most of our wounds after a few minutes. He was left with a black eye of unknown origin, and one of my shoulders was slightly sprained, but other than that were _physically_ fine. We went back to the dormitory area and collapsed on a couple of beds.

It had been his idea, but I know I was the only one who slept that morning. He roused me after a few hours, with a big bowl of rabbit stew and two loaves of bread in hand.

I suppose food as a peace offering is never odd. What was stranger was that the stew was _good_.

"I would've never taken you for the cooking type. Do I smell nirnroot and carrots?"

"You like nirnroot, right?"

"I'm absolutely not complaining. I do love nirnroot. Fuck, Vilkas, thank you. Really."

"Well, try it and let me know what you think. I don't really cook, but I got the recipe off a book." He sounded genuinely anxious, but of course it wasn't about my opinion of his food.

"This is really good. That's a skill to explore, there." I wanted to ask him how was he feeling, but it felt stupid.

"Eat up, then. After that, we need to pile up all the bodies and burn them outside, probably. Should give you a chance to strip them off every bit of silver you can, for your little trinkets."

He also wasn't mocking my recent interest in smithing jewels, which had yielded a lot of gold – even if he had always censored my greed. Who was this man? I raised an eyebrow. This was no normal "battle hangover" behaviour.

"If you help me find where they keep their garnets and gems, I'll share the profits of my _trinkets_ evenly."

"Sure, we'll look for that chest too."

So maybe now he doesn't hate me, and may even respect me. He definitely still dislikes me – he's just stalling, I realised. Bloody revenge had been our sole direction for over a day, but now he had to face his father's funeral. Worse yet, he may have realised that he would have to take over, which had to be scary. I pitied him, but hoped he wouldn't notice.

Eventually, we ran out of reasonable things to do. The bodies were burnt, loot classified and divided, our armours cleaned. Unless we were planning on fixing Driftshade to live there, we had to go. I set fire to a haystack by the door and we retrieved Linea, who was still outside. As we mounted, he looked back at the smoke column, and said:

"Home we go then. We can't escape from the path ahead."

What an odious man, always right. As we galloped downhill, we found more smoke and fire: a village completely ablaze, and just south of it, a long line of its residents, with their last possessions on their backs, seeking a roof that would take them. Their kids cried and their adults dragged their feet; all inhaled loss and exhaled despair. Nords are a proud people, but they were being defeated over my refusal to fetch a horn.

Aela was wrong. Waiting for someone to give me clear directions is little better than escaping, and these people are paying the price.


	3. Slay the beast as if you feared it

Following orders is easy. It may require respect for whoever is giving them, or at most, some conviction. It's nice and safe. If you mess up, then there's something wrong with the orders, not you. Same goes for following guidance or advice, though: the biggest, riskiest part of the job is always deciding on a course of action.

What am I going to do now?

None of this is going the way it was supposed to.

I had already told Vilkas, as we covered the last stretch of the road before Whiterun, that I needed to take the dragon business seriously, fetch the horn the Greybeards had asked me for all those months ago, do something about Alduin. Clearly just killing dragons when they showed up wasn't cutting it. The sight of those displaced villagers had wounded me, way worse than Kodlak's death could have. I've rarely been one to be consumed by remorse over others – but those wretched people were _me_ , for all the gold I could carry around now. Shit, they would be me, they would be all of us, if Alduin was not stopped.

Shame on me. It took me almost six months to realise that my dream manor requires the world to continue existing. Stupid, stupid Sira. This is the kind of foresight that ended with me earning a bounty in Bruma in less than two weeks, and with me on a prisoner cart ready to be executed.

Vilkas agreed. Not with the stupidity part (I didn't tell him that much), but with the need to do something. He had never faced a dragon (although Aela, Athis, and Njada had, with me), and he couldn't believe the degree of destruction we were witnessing. He offered his help, advice, and bookish knowledge. Neither of us dared to say it out loud, not with Kodlak's proper funeral still pending, but I needed my Harbinger's blessing for my change of strategy.

But clearly _that_ wasn't turning out the way it was supposed to.

Tradition dictated that the new Harbinger is to be elected by the previous one, from among the members of the Circle – but the Silver Blood had murdered Kodlak before he could designate someone. This meant the Circle would have to elect someone from within its own ranks, a process which in the past had resulted in plenty of intrigue and the occasional backstab. However, with Skjor dead, there was little doubt about who we would elect: I was a newbie, Aela did not care for leadership, and Farkas was incapable of it.

Tradition (not sure if Nordic or The Companions') also dictated the queerest funeral I have ever participated in. We don't burn our dead in Cyrodiil, and when the time comes to speak, words are rarely so simple and repetitive – or as touching.

And so we said goodbye to Vilkas' and Farkas' only real father, to our advisor, our restrainer, our encourager. I was ready to continue following "guidance" - even from him of all people, so when Eorlund handed me the reforged Wuuthrad, I took it, and when Aela and the twins decided we had to head to Ysgramor's tomb and release

Kodlak's spirit from the wretched deal with Hircine, I followed them, axe raised high.

Ysgramor's tomb is in an ice field, between Winterhold and Dawnstar. It's a cold and bleak place, full of ice wraiths and snow sabre cats, but when you're just following the crowd it does not matter. Once inside, Vilkas refused to keep going because "his heart was still consumed by revenge", which is something that must make sense to Nords, but I still had Aela and Farkas to help me fight the ghosts of Harbingers past.

I hugged Farkas when his fear of spiders kept him from continuing. I still had Aela, the closest friend I've ever had, in addition to clear instructions: reach the Flame of the Harbinger, throw the witch's head on the fire, release Kodlak's spirit. So we did.

And then Kodlak's spirit thanked us, expressed his desire to see us in Sovngarde, and told me to lead the Companions to further glory.

The cease-fire was clearly not meant to last.

* * *

Aela, at least, had smiled.

"Ah, I remember when you were just a whelp who was begging to join. But your strength and honour are apparent to all. The old man trusted you, so I'll trust you."

My head was spinning. She said she wanted to commune with the tomb of her hero for a while longer, so I stepped outside. I tried avoiding the twins on the way out, but Farkas caught me.

"Little one, you're done! Did you do it? Is Kodlak at peace now?"

"He is. He'll be fine. It will all be fine."

He hugged me, clearly touched, unashamed of sniffling on my hair.

"That's not everything, though."

"Uh?"

"After I defeated his beast, I talked to his spirit. He said I am to lead you all to further glory."

"Oh, congratulations! No, little one, don't look scared. Don't worry about me, at least. I do as I'm told" I am not little, and was hoping to do the same! "You're strong and smart and the Dragonborn. You'll be great!"

"Do you really think so?"

"I do. And so will my brother, he'll just take his time to admit it. This… is a small joy for me, in the middle of all the pain, you know?"

"Right. The pain will get smaller every day, I hope. Should we…" First decision as Harbinger, and I'm already having trouble with it. "Head back home?"

"No, not right now. I feel… I need to stay here longer. Ysgramor, you know, the greatest warrior we ever had. Kodlak's spirit was here. I'll stay."

"Of course. I imagine Vilkas will want to pay his respects as well. I'll see you home, then."

"Sure, my Harbinger."

He did not sound sarcastic, but it felt unnatural nonetheless.

Dawnstar was close enough, so I thought it would be a matter of walking there and taking a cart back to Whiterun, getting some much needed rest. Then of course, Winterhold was even closer, but the town was said to be smaller and colder. Well, if I was going to do it on my own, better to stick to the familiar route. It felt odd to set off without the others. Maybe I needed to commune with Ysgramor as well – even as an outlander who knew next to little about him or had no ties to Atmora.

My wandering led me up a side staircase, and eventually to the roof. I felt a familiar murmur on my chest, one that the dragons' souls seemed eager to answer. I began wiping the snow out of the nearby wall, confident to find an answer there. As soon as enough of one word was uncovered, the now-familiar blue lights came out, and I was happy to just lie there while they took over me.

* * *

"Still cold?" Aela asked, while I handed her the pelting dagger.

"No, I think the sprinting warmed me up enough."

"What on Earth got into you? Falling asleep out there? We're in the middle of the ice fields, not a sandy beach of the Gold Coast."

"Ugh, I'm never hearing the end of this, am I? I told you, it was a word wall. I can't help it – but now I can make prey walk into our traps!"

"I'll appreciate you refrain from that when we hunt. It spoils the fun."

"My new fur bracers beg to differ. I think I can add some silver filigree, maybe a ruby in the middle, right along the wrist."

She shook her head.

"You and your love of shiny things. Makes no sense, really. Bracers are supposed to protect you and be comfortable. Anything else is useless, unless you're some delicate damsel from Cyrodiil, and you're not. I've worked hard to erase the courtier in you."

"Right. First of all, I fail to see the contradiction. I can kill as many bandits as any Nord, I simply don't fancy looking like one once I reach the city. Second, there's plenty of delicate damsels in Skyrim who would pay a lot for such pretty, shiny things."

"And what are you planning to do with all that coin, by the way?"

"Buy more pretty shiny things, you know, remind everyone I am a woman. Try and stop me."

"I would never. I'll just hunt whoever convinced you to the ridiculous notion that you need shiny things to look womanly, and kill them."

"Ha! Are you sure you want to go down that miserable lane again? I'd rather hunt some horkers, see if I can try some of their fabled meat at last."

"You have not? And you call yourself civilised! Let's go."

We were heading east down the Frozen Shore, nearly back to Dawnstar. After Aela found me unconscious, nearly frozen to death on the roof of Ysgramor's tomb, she warmed me up and took me hunting "to warm ourselves up". The twins stayed, either to honor their hero or say goodbye to their father.

"Careful there. I heard there's a Dark Brotherhood sanctuary right east of the city. Not feeling like facing them." I warned Aela.

"You think they'd recognise you?"

"No idea. Still don't know who on Oblivion wrote that contract on me, either."

"Well, it's not like you can knock on their door and ask, I suppose. Wait, what's flapping there?"

"Looks like a tent."

"Who would camp out here? They must be mad. Better leave them alone."

Just as we tried to go back, my foot stumbled on a weirdly sleek, long icy rock. No, not a rock, _a frozen arm_.

"Too late, Aela. Found the owner, I'm afraid."

It was two owners, actually, young men who couldn't be older than 20. Or was it their ice form that made them look so angelic? They were holding hands. Aela performed Arkay's blessing and headed towards the tent. There was nothing that would allow us to locate their names or relations there. No journal, no books, no clan shields. Just two sleeping rolls, a lot of scattered flowers, and an Amulet of Mara.

"You think maybe one of the lads was going to propose?"

"Maybe. At least they died together."

She looked oddly touched at that thought. Could she be thinking of Skjor? I wrapped my arm around her waist and gave her a side hug, trying to pull her back to Mundus. It took her an instant to turn around to face me, her usual side smirk back.

"Nothing shiny to loot, eh? You may want to keep that amulet, I bet it will come in handy now."

"Right, because I'll have all this time for men now, with everything I have to do."

I felt a sudden wave of decisiveness and I had to ride it. "Aela?"

"Yes, my Harbinger?" I wondered if she would ever be able to say that in a non-mocking tone.

"I need you to come with me to Ustengrav. Just south of the city. Won't delay us much."

Her eyes lit up. "Anything you need, Sira." She did not sound mocking.

Destiny is what seemed to mock me now. Ustengrav turned out to be the most labyrinthine ruin I had seen so far. I came close to dying at the hands of draugr overlords twice, and Aela herself looked worn out and tired as we reached the main chamber. She didn't seem to resent me over it, at least, not even when the horn we had come to fetch was missing.

AAARGH! Serves me right, for taking so long to get here. I felt stupid, idiotic, worthless of anything more important than shiny things when confronted to a note that said the horn waited for me in Riverwood, of all places. It was Aela, however, the one to notice that the note didn't look like it was left five months ago – merely a week, at most, but likely no more than three days.

Clearly, someone had been watching our movements very closely.


	4. Mistrust has a scent of its own

I had been trying to avoid Riverwood ever since its incident, and returning, with Aela of all people, would've been awkward enough in any circumstance. However, this time the danger of the rendezvous erased everything else. Someone had stolen the horn I had to take to the Greybeards, promised to meet us and return it at the Sleeping Giant Inn – and possibly meant to kill us.

"Good evening, ma'am. We'd like the attic room, please."

The Breton's eyes widened when she saw me. She'd never been particularly nice to anyone, and she had been especially nasty to me the first time I came here, back when I was enjoying Hadvar's attentions. I mean, hospitality. I mean, it was a long time ago.

"The attic room? You or her?"

"How about both, and we save ourselves the prying questions?"

"There is no attic room. You can have this one, on the left. This way, ladies." Aela and I exchanged significant looks. Delphine was known to be the most insolent innkeeper in the hold, but the smell of paranoia was unsettling.

As soon as we were inside, Delphine shut the door behind us. Aela's hand reached instinctively for her dagger, but stopped herself before taking it out.

"Companions, first of all, my condolences. Your Harbinger was a great warrior, and I'm sure he is feasting on Sovngarde. Now, Dragonborn?"

"Yes?" I replied. She clearly didn't know which one to address.

"I think you're looking for this. Please follow me." She handed the horn, knocked on the dresser and opened a secret cellar.

Time to put my own hand on my sword hilt. I should've kept my armour on – I wanted to avoid attracting attention. If I get out of this one, I'll have learned something.

"The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn. I hope they're right."

"I'm afraid they are." Aela snorted, as she always does whenever I bring out my Imperial politeness. Delphine chose to ignore her.

"Well, I'm afraid I can't just take their word for it. I just handed you the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?"

"I wouldn't mind if you were just to take the title. So what's with all the cloak-and-dagger? Why bother with the horn, bringing me here?"

"I'm not your enemy. I already gave you the horn. I just had to make sure you were not a Thalmor plant. I'm actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out."

"I'm listening."

She turned over and glanced at Aela.

"My Shield-Sister is listening too." I said.

"Right. Shield-sister. So long as she's not some hireling from the Bannered Mare, I suppose… I'm part of a group that's been looking for you... well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you."

"We're the ones risking our lives coming here, and yet here we are. I have no love for the Thalmor either, but I'm not here to discuss personal grievances. What do you want me to do? Shout?"

"I want to make sure you're the Dragonborn. You'll see, we remember what most don't - that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer. You're the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul. So I'll see you eat a dragon's soul."

She explained about dragons coming back to life, the empty burial grounds, the map of burial sites I had taken out of Bleak Falls Barrow. My head started to hurt. It would rain soon.

"12 days from now, the 27th of Sun's Dawn. The burial mound is just past Kynesgrove. Be there."

"We'll see you for the hunt, then." Aela said, as goodbye. Unable to speak or think, I curtseyed.

* * *

At least, Delphine's calculations left us with some days to adjust to my new life and title. As soon as we reached Whiterun, it became clear the news of what had happened up North had arrived before us – or at least, the censored version had. Amren, as delicious-looking as ever, greeted me with "Divines smile upon you, Harbinger", and the guards' murmurs followed us across the market stalls.

I breathed deeply before opening the main door of Jorrvaskr. I wasn't ready, but I never would be. Hopefully I could just go hide in bed until it was time to go hunting. Except, no: as soon as stepped in, I found everyone sitting around the central table. They stood up as soon as they noticed us, to make it worse.

"Kodlak made a good choice, but I always thought the new Harbinger would be taller, myself." Athis said, with his typical dry humor.

"So did I."

"I'd refrain from mentioning it." He added, before embracing me.

Ria seemed genuinely happy and kissed both my cheeks. Torvar wanted to know if he could get free counsel with his drinks, and _appeared_ happy. Njada offered her congratulations as well – although she was never as good a liar as Torvar. The twins, who had arrived two days before us with the news, were there as well too shake my arm. Vilkas wasn't smiling, which was unsurprising of itself, but he no longer wore his black bracers. Bad sign.

Farkas called for a toast, and we all took a sharp gulp for new beginnings.

"I'm so glad to see you all. It's been a rough few days, and my silver tongue seems to have taken a vacation." Some chuckled. "Cheers."

I headed downstairs, to the living quarters. The door closed behind me just in time to hear Torvar's "Well, that was quick. From whelp to Harbinger in six months, wonder what's her trick?"

"Aye, what guidance could she possibly offer me?"

Downstairs, Tilma waited for me, just at the entrance of the Circle's living quarters.

"Ah, my child! My Harbinger! You are home! I am still expecting instructions about your new quarters."

Oh, shit. Not that. Just when my room had stopped being _Skjor's old room_.

"You mean Kodlak's?"

"Right. They're yours now. I have not been inside since… well, there's his personal belongings, some of which you won't want to keep, I assume, and his books, his clothes. Just tell me which ones, I'll dispose of them for you."

I cannot fucking do this.

"I… will tell you, soon. I'll just keep using my old room in the meantime, it's no bother. I think this task should fall to Vilkas and Farkas?"

"Excellent judgement. Shall I fetch them for you?" Was our housekeeper judging me on my first administrative decision?

"If you'd be so kind."

They both arrived less than two minutes afterwards. There was little to explain, Kodlak's personal items were theirs to keep or clear, nobody would argue with that. Farkas still seemed touched by the fact that I'd called them, and immediately began gathering, sniffing, and playing with quills and other random clutter, as if trying to find traces of their gone owner. Vilkas immediately headed to the bookshelves, counting, perusing. I was intruding.

"Sira, don't go yet, please." Vilkas said, just as I was about to make myself scarce. "I can compile a list of books for you, so you can decide which ones you'll want to keep for your personal library. If you have any questions about their topics, which authors are more reliable…"

His voice was eerily impersonal, as if trying too hard to pretend this was just another task to be dealt with. I guiltily though of the piles of books I kept in my room, which I hoarded compulsively for no real purpose – I had little interest in reading most of them, but they were free loot I could never throw away.

"No, don't worry about that. You take whatever you want, really."

"Are you sure? There are many essential books in here, including the third tome of the Biography of Barenziah – I noticed you only own the first two." I have not read either, but oh well. "Ah, here's a second copy of it…" He stopped abruptly, and the scent of fresh pain invaded the room.

"Vil, what's wrong?" Farkas asked, quickly approaching to help.

"I'm sorry, it's just… it's his journal. And it's full of his handwriting, and his thoughts, and… It's like he's here still."

Why am I still standing here?

"Take your time. I'll be in my old room. It'll be fine." I mumbled awkwardly, before tiptoeing out of the room.

* * *

I had barely had time to drop the herbs I'd collected on my chest and rest my feet, when I heard knocking on my door.

"Come in" I said, without turning.

"I've been an obstinate arse and a brute all this time." It was Vilkas. I had to bite my tongue to avoid agreement.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"I wanted to apologise. For everything. For sneering at you when you first walked in, for trying to kill you during your trial, and taunting you, and..."

"A full recount will do us little good." I replied, perhaps a bit too harshly.

"Of course. Either way, I'm truly sorry."

"Why? If I'm allowed to ask, I mean." Did he contract ash woe blight from those dusty books?

"You deserve to know, I guess. I… read Kodlak's journal." He blushed slightly, as if he were confessing a misdeed. If only I had such scruples. "The old man trusted you. He knew you'd be the one to free his soul, before you even came here. Sounds strange, I know, and I'm glad he never told me, because I would've thought it was ridiculous. I never believed in foresight or dreams. But then you did release his soul, meaning his dreams were right, and he was right to trust you and seek you out. I thought you were trying to _squeeze_ your way into his trusted circle, on purpose, trying to replace me, so..."

I squinted at his ramblings "Of course. Young woman out of nowhere, old unmarried man, is that what you're saying?"

"Absolutely not! No, I would never accuse you of stepping so low! Just that he was kind of my father, not yours..."

Oddly enough, I had never thought of stepping so low with Kodlak, but Oblivion be damned if I wouldn't have tried a similar scheme just a year ago. _Best if he thinks you're offended, Sira._ , I remember thinking clearly.

"I understand you're grieving, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. This can only sound like crazy ramblings to you... in fact, he didn't tell anyone because he thought it would sound like ramblings to anyone else. He knew you'd be the one to break our curse, and he may have known you were the Dragonborn, too, before anyone else did. If anyone had told me, six months ago, that a newcomer with the power of Thu'um would show up and become our new Harbinger, I'd have sent for a healer. And yet, here we are, because I'm a paranoid, jealous arse who thinks his farts don't reek, that's all."

"Right, I can live with that. It's fine. It's a new beginning for all of us, each in our own way."

"Exactly. So can we start over?"

Isn't that the whole point of everything? This ought to be a trick question.

"No."

"No?" He looked taken aback. I gave a long sigh. Did I just ruin it?

"Starting over would imply forgetting everything I've learned of you, and I'd rather not. You are an arse whose farts definitely smell, but you're also the most informed arse I have around. I need your help, if I'm to do this… The dragon situation won't fix itself. You saw the burning village. I don't want to start over and have you forget you saw it. I need your help to end it."

"You have my help, for anything you want. The… transition will be hard, but I worked very closely with Kodlak, and I'll be here to help. We all are, you know. Ysgramor didn't lead his 500 for them to live in a devastated wasteland."

"Friends, then? Shield-siblings?"

"Partners." He extended his arm, and for the first time, he shook mine as an equal.


	5. Unbridled restraint

Reaching Kynesgrove so deep in the winter could take as much as four or five days, and we had to go up to High Hrothgar on the way there. That didn't leave as many days as I'd have liked to adjust to the new reality of Jorrvaskr – I barely got a look at the account books and the chance for extra speed training.

No matter about the latter – in the end, there was no best training than facing actual bandits on the road. Jorrvaskr's coffers were a different affair entirely. Between our recent casualties and the chaotic situation around the province, the Companions had been turning away contracts just because we had nobody who could fulfil them. By anyone else's standards, we were not lacking coin, but my Imperial heart saw nothing but missed opportunities.

Meanwhile, tiptoeing Vilkas's new big-brotherish attitude was its own challenge. It felt odd, even unnatural at times, and as much as I wanted this new truce - no, alliance - to last, I kept having to bite my tongue to avoid falling back into our old insults. And yet, he was so _pleasant_! I wasn't about to yield a iota of my new power over a few niceties, either.

"Best way I see it, we get a new whelp or two. You can test them, if one shows up while I'm away." I told Vilkas, after getting an estimate of how much money we weren't making.

"It would be wrong for me to welcome anyone without the Harbinger's blessing." Deferential much?

"Well, I'm sure their Trial can always be delayed a week or two? Just test them and keep them alive until I get back. Unless they're entitled twats, of course."

"No room for any more of that, right? I could call on farmboy, maybe he's improved." I frowned, about to smack him for taking it too far. "Oh, you didn't know? He applied once, like five years ago. Didn't make it."

I won't laugh, I won't laugh, I can't help if I'm smiling. Why is _he_ smiling?

"He's a Legionnaire now, I'm sure he's improved plenty but he's not available." I said, trying my best to sound annoyed.

"A relief, I suppose?"

"You suppose wrong, I wouldn't mind." Wretched lie. "But it's settled: we're hiring. I still need to check the stocks at the Skyforge before my final training session with Athis. Make sure Aela gets to rest today, we leave just past sunset."

"Sure. Just make sure you get some time with the greatsword when you get back! Over-specialising can kill you, trust me."

"I know, I know. I've got to play to my strengths, though."

"Must you two leave at night? It seems like asking for trouble, not being able to see your foes."

"Ideally, they won't see us. Aela will be fine, nightly hunts are her specialty, after all."

* * *

The hours between Whiterun and Ivarstead turned out to be too few. I had only just began to feel free of my Harbinger mask, and barely a day later I had to put on my "peaceful Tongue" mask. To top it off, I was downright dreading my encounter with Arngeir – I was going to be told off for taking so long, I knew it.

"I'd think monks who meditate all day don't notice time like us normal folk." Aela was trying to be as reassuring as possible, as we began the ascent.

"They're monks, not draugr. I'm in deep shit."

"If that's so, then it keeps piling up the more we delay. I'll race you to the first wolf's den."

Turns out, we were both wrong. They had noticed how long it had taken me – but instead of being angry about, they saw it as a virtue.

"It would do no good for your powers to grow too quickly, before you acquire the necessary wisdom to handle them." Arngeir said, maybe thinking of their last disastrous overpowered pupil, who had started a civil war. "You have completed your training, Dovahkiin. We would speak to you. Few would stand the unbridled Voice of the Greybeards – but you are ready. Your friend should wait behind."

As they began a strange series of chanting in the dragon tongue, thunder began roaring and the air vibrated. After they finished, Arngeir began reciting the translation. He mentioned Atmora of Old, a Stormcrown, the names of ancient Nord gods – things that I knew should've meant more or warmed my heart somehow, but were empty to me. For all the success I've found in my new Skyrim life, I never felt as much a foreigner as when Arngeir said "You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it."

Stare at the looking glass all you want, Sira. You are not of the North.

Aela stood at the back in awe, no side smile on her face. This is all wrong. I'm not ready for shit, this training is worthless, a huge mistake. I can't be the hero of legends that aren't mine.

As we continued east, towards Kynesgrove, I cracked lame pun after inappropriate joke, hoping to forget that charade had just happened. Aela did not seem to want to forget, though, as she remained quiet and sullen. At least, that gave us little room to hunt, explore, or otherwise delay the trip. The weather was also surprisingly good, and we reached the village of Kynesgrove a full day before we expected.

The burial site was on a hill just behind the village. Having located it and explored the surrounding conditions, there was little else to do but to wait for Delphine to arrive. I hoped to just get a room at the inn and drink Aela's awkwardness away, but there was no time for that.

"Dragon! Dragon! It's a big, black one, just over there!" A child screamed, right in the middle of a farm. You have to be fucking kidding me, Delphine got the date wrong?

Everyone started screaming and running downhill, getting away from the dragon. A few tried to grab coats and tools on their way. Some vagrant broke a window and took the chance to begin looting a home. We grabbed our weapons right away and began running uphill, towards the burial mound.

"You reckon we can send it back to its grave before it kills too much?" Aela asked, bow ready. Delphine appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, running towards it on horseback. I unsheathed my swords.

"Wait!" I screamed. "Over there, behind those rocks! Hide there!"

"We came here to kill a dragon!" One of them screamed, behind me.

"This isn't the right dragon. We can't kill this one." Divines be thanked, they obeyed. I would have recognised the black face of death anywhere. This wasn't the reborn dragon we had to kill. This was Alduin, and we couldn't kill him. My shaking legs knew it, my tight throat knew it, my _bladder_ knew it. I tried covering my eyes, determined not to see its face ever again.

If I'd tried to run away, he'd have seen us and killed me. I wasn't ready to die. I could only hide and wait. Being burnt didn't hurt that much, did it? I was ready to die.

Alduin did not feel like killing me.

He began speaking to the mound. Another dragon rose from it, and then they began talking. The dragon souls in me knew what they were saying, roared in anger when he called me "false Dragonborn", and sprung me back to my feet after he gave baby Sahloknir the command to kill us.

I lept at it, Aela and Delphine in tow. Their arrows made it confused, and it groaned in pain. I shouted at it, then threw a stream of frost as soon as it opened its mouth. Before it would have time to shower us with fire again, I had climbed on its neck and my swords stuck on its eyes.

Even after blinded, Sahloknir put up a fight. Its claws and tail could still tear apart a home, but we had the advantage. After a while – I can never think of time while fighting a dragon, it lay dead and burst into flames.

"So you really are... I... it's true, isn't it? You really are the Dragonborn! I suppose I owe you a few answers."

I knew of the Blades as much as anyone else in Cyrodiil – they had once been the emperor's elite protectors. It had never occurred to me that they protected the emperor only because he had the Dragon blood – being emperor was enough of a reason, was it not?

I agreed with her that Alduin's intervention both now and during Ulfric's escape was suspicious, and the Thalmor had definitely gained the most from his escape. I wasn't as convinced that it meant Thalmor involvement – but as the only lead we had, it seemed worth following. Infiltrating their embassy, on the other hand, sounded like the stupidest idea ever.

"Maybe this little adventure didn't show it, but I intend to live to an old age, with a manor full of servants and boiled cream tarts. I'm not climbing through the Thalmor's window."

"Of course you are not. You'll walk through their door, with a plan and a reasonable excuse."

"Or… you could." Aela retorted.

"No, I'm a Blade and they've been hunting me for over a decade. Sira, you, on the other hand, are a harmless-looking Imperial with a distinguished nose and big pretty eyes."

"Should I be insulted?" She made it sound like an insult.

"No. You should begin checking Whiterun's market stalls every morning, though. You know Carlotta Valentia?"

"Of course. What does she have to do with anything?" Other than being a fellow pretty Imperial, I suppose? Were we sending her into the Embassy?

"You let me take care of the fine details. Just walk by her food stall every morning. One of these days, she'll receive a shipment of peaches from Cyrodiil. When she does, come look for me at the Sleeping Giant."

"And you'll have a non-suicidal plan ready by then?"

"Exactly. And one more thing, if you want to bring a bodyguard along, try to keep it discreet, will you? Companions in full combat gear will get people to wonder in such a small town."

Aela scoffed. I sympathised with her – although Delphine had a point. My new Blade run back to her horse and galloped away, leaving us disconcerted. With the village now deserted, we began walking towards Windhelm, where we could sell supplies and take a cart back to Whiterun.

"I don't like that woman." Aela said. "She thinks herself all tough."

"Well, she is tough. But there's a difference between tough and rude, I suppose. She reminds me a bit of you, though."

"You're serious?"

"You both seem to think I'm a pretty Imperial and favour deeds over words. So of course, you are destined to be best friends or mortal enemies."

"Says who?"

"All those new books I have."

"You're wrong. You're not that pretty."

"You're just jealous because I can pull off a dress."

It felt good to have my friend back.

* * *

Windhelm was windy, as its name indicated, and by the time we reached it, stores had closed. As Companions, we found little trouble getting in, but I quickly noticed that opening my mouth would immediately earn me sour looks and even names. I would never stop sounding like an Imperial, and I was mostly allright with that – but the cosmopolitism of Whiterun had fooled me into forgetting the full degree of Skyrim's political and racial turmoil.

I let Aela handle most interactions, and simply watched. The sight of so many Stormcloaks also brought back memories of Helgen. There were at least two other Stormcloaks who missed execution that day, in addition to Ulfric. I wondered if they made it out alive, if they were still alive, if maybe a Legionnaire had killed them already. One of them, even, had been Hadvar's friend somehow, had he not?

The square before the Palace of Kings was dusty and full of beggars, mostly maimed soldiers and widows. It was a pitiful sight, but not as heart breaking as the Grey Quarter, were they forced the dunmer to live. I thought of Athis, his tough exterior and his overly sour jokes, which hid a fiercely loyal friend. If he had to live in Windhelm, he'd probably be full of sarcastic comments about how the Argonians had it worse – and they did, in that horrible slum outside the city's walls. It smelled too much like mine.

We got a room at the inn and waited out the night. The morning after, we got rid of the dragon bones and other minor loot we'd gathered, and headed out as quickly as possible. I never wanted to return to Windhelm, I wanted to return right away with an army and slice Ulfric's throat.

Once outside, I tried really hard to stop thinking about everything we'd seen. Aela had reverted back to her quiet mode, although I attributed it to Windhelm.

"What's wrong? Did you not sleep well?" I asked.

She arched an eyebrow.

"I never sleep well. No, that's not it."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"Mhm… how to explain? I've barely had time to stop thinking of you as whelp. And now suddenly you're also Ysmir, the Dragon of the North, a hero of legend! I mean, I knew you were the Dragonborn, and I'd seen you shout before, I thought it was a neat little trick. But that little ceremony with the Greybeards? The way the air shook when they talked? We just came out of a city ruled by someone who murdered a king with his voice, and that's… scary."

"Do I scare you?" I didn't even bother pretending to be hurt. I scare me. And Nords distrust magic.

"Not _you_ , you. But these arcane powers, they're dangerous. You know the Oblivion crisis. You should see what's left of Winterhold. You're a good, brave fighter, but I can't help but think that I'm on the brink of seeing you destroy the world."

"Do you think I would?"

"I don't know anymore."

"Well, neither do I. I'll try not to, at least. I'd rather not be a hero of legends either, you know? A hero… would not let things like the Grey Quarter happen. I feel I should do something."

"You shouldn't do half as much as you're planning to. This business about the Embassy… if that woman's crazy ramblings go wrong, do you have any idea what they'd do to you? Sira, you can't be thinking of going through with it!"

"So what should I do instead? That black dragon we saw, bringing Sahloknir back to life, that's Alduin! The other dragons call him World-Eater. He's the prince of dragons. He has to be stopped"

"How do you know that? Did the Greybeards…"

"You've seen them. They never say anything! I have the souls of 8 dragons living inside me. That black dragon is their prince. Trust me, I know."

She stepped back at my mention of the dragon souls. I stepped forward and continued my plea.

"All I wanted is a manor with servants. Right now, I just want my best friend back. They both require the world to remain uneaten."


	6. More than meets the eye

Nobody had seen peaches around Whiterun for several years, it seemed. I was told as much by Ysolda, who seemed to think it was very funny that I had asked about them for four days in a row. I told her I was homesick, and set myself on avoiding her like the plague – the woman seemingly spent every waking hour going through the market stalls sharing gossip, which was sure to piss off my paranoid Blade.

Carlotta, on the other hand, was made of much more introverted stock – and was probably familiar enough with homesickness, and so refrained from asking stupid questions.

While I had been away with Aela, two prospective whelps knocked on our door, although they were both judged useless by Vilkas and Torvar. One of them had cried, even. And I had thought that my own trial was a disaster. Routine had set in after that, and with insufficient hands to handle all our contracts, there were rarely even 3 people at a time around our hall. Our table was thus peaceful, private, and with more food that we could possibly need.

After a week of idleness, my feet began scratching only in the slightest, so I chose to take Nice Twin to track an escaped bandit. It was as simple a job as it could get: the man had been apprehended by guards after breaking into Honningbrew Meadery and destroying a large amount of supplies. He had last been seen heading north east, possibly looking to cross into the Pale. Rain as heavy as the one we had meant tracking would be ridiculously easy, and hopefully we could be back the same day.

* * *

We set off rather early in the morning, and spent most of it eagerly trekking, joking around, and sharing silly anecdotes. He told me of the time a barmaid wouldn't stop following him around, offering free ale refills, that he began sniffing at them suspiciously – and had to pretend to be Ria's husband.

"Aren't you a sweet roll? Way to let her down gently." I told him.

"Aye, but I should've probably let Ria in on the plan. I tried holding her hand, and her eyes gave the whole thing away. Ended up slapped by both of them."

"I bet. I always thought she was extremely fond of you."

"You think? I think she just wants me."

Ahh, Farkas. For all his immense people skills, it was easy to forget he couldn't handle metaphors.

"That's one way of putting it, I bet. You shouldn't let her see you in that fancy new armour then."

For some reason, he wasn't wearing his usual plate set, but a richer-looking steel and fur armour.

"Oh, so you think this makes me look more attractive, little one?" He said, with a playful smirk.

"Maaaybe. I'm following you around either way."

"Well, just so you know, this is my brother's wolf armour. Mine needed airing, figured he won't notice." He shrugged, as if he honestly believed Vilkas would not be beyond furious if he did notice. Then he turned towards me and winked. "Oh, I bet that's why I look more attractive to you."

 _Oh, crap._

"Well, you carry yourself better with it."

"Of course I do. I'm stronger. Eorlund can make a similar set for you, you know?"

"Meh, I'd rather stick to light pieces. I feel trapped if running for my life is not a possibility."

"Our Harbinger, the bravest of the brave Companions. Smell that?"

I did smell it, and it made me gag. Freshly roasted venison and stale mead where still lingering in the air. The bandit's abandoned camp lay poorly hidden behind some rocky formations, close to the mountains. I could not approach the kitchen, but Farkas confirmed it was still warm – meaning he had escaped on the nick of time.

His trail headed east, towards a nearby farm. The chase was quick and intense, the man was clearly determined to die free. Well, tough luck, because he still ended bound, and less than an hour later we were leading him back to Whiterun. I found our own sight unsettling, partly because I remembered my own fear at being tied up, partly because there was something terribly off about this man.

Back in Anvil, I spent enough time by the docks among pickpockets to know this man was no common thief. His stance was too proud and his face too expressive for someone who should make an art of blending in. Even weirder was the fact that, although he must be a thief – no ordinary citizen would've been able to slip out of Whiterun's jail completely unnoticed – he was not charged with stealing anything from the Meadery, but from destroying property. Two thousand septims worth of property, too, so it's not like he accidentally tripped over a shelf. He was dressed in rags, but his belt was made of horker skin, clearly custom made, and held a fine elven dagger.

The man clearly had a story, but it was not my lot to deal with it. All we had to do was take him back to Whiterun. If he escaped again after that, it'd be another 700 septims for us. The afternoon was setting in, sunny and eerily warm – I had not realised how much I'd missed sunshine these past few months. Farkas was not as happy about it – he was larger than his brother and the armour was slightly too tight. Beads of sweat began dropping all over his face, and his cheeks were ruddy and burning.

"What say you if we stop by the stream and freshen up? I could use a swim."

"Sure, I'll tie our friend here to that tree, and you can go away while I change."

"Heh. Sure. You let me know when I can turn."

I quickly got rid of my armour and slipped over a plain tunic I had packed. It was light enough that it would let me get into the water and cool my feet, at least, and possibly a unique opportunity to frolic like a child. I went knee deep into the water and mud, catching two mudcrabs that would make fabulous dinner, while Farkas played at splashing water about.

He was just showing me a silly trick with the grass when the bandit disappeared right in front of my eyes.

No, he didn't slip out. I swear. I had been looking at Farkas, keeping an eye at our guest who was just 20 feet behind him, and suddenly he wasn't. I screamed and pointed, but by the time we reached his tree, the rope was lying on the floor – not cut in half or forced, but neatly left on the floor, on top of his roughspun tunic.

All thought of modesty left behind, I removed my tunic and got back into my armour immediately, ready to resume the chase. He still had to be nearby. However, while my things had been left untouched, and all our money was still in our packs, Farkas' borrowed armour was gone.

What kind of thief does this?

To be honest, poor Nice Twin seemed more scared about his brother's reaction. I was going beyond paranoid, thinking we may have been dealing with an expert infiltrator or assassin. Of course, I couldn't tell Farkas, since I'd never shared my initial suspicions anyway, and my behaviour had been weird enough for the past days thanks to the peach business. Suddenly Delphine's paranoia all seemed reasonable – maybe the Thalmor were the ones who sent the Dark Brotherhood after me? Meanwhile, we'd been enjoying a swim and planning a picnic, like two stupid kids.

"You don't reckon he'll commit another crime and then they'll blame it on my brother?" asked Farkas, bringing my imagination back to the realm of the plausible.

"Let us hope not. Can you smell which way he went? It's getting dark enough, and my eyesight…"

"Aye, I know about it. I don't know, he was going east before, maybe he'll try that direction again?"

"It would make some sense. Back to the farm? Or maybe back to the Meadery?"

"Why the Meadery?"

"To finish his job? He's clearly not interested in money or loot… maybe he has something specific against the owner?"

"Mmm so east, then?"

Right, Farkas just does as he's told.

We headed east, because I would not deal with the responsibility of coming up with a different sugestion. Here and there, we located split branches and footsteps in the mud, although they were surprisingly few – at least until we ran into a travelling merchant by a road, complaining of a stolen horse. Decency demanded we helped him (or so Farkas said), so I threw 30 septims his way and promised to return his horse if we found it.

Divines be blessed, horses are much easier to track.

Dawn was approaching by the time we managed to locate him. We were quite close to Fellglow Keep, which seemed like a reasonable destination for hiding. There was almost no light, so I decided to sacrifice one of my Paralysis poisons to ensure he would stay put after just one arrow.

We barely had time to tie him back to the horse when an ice mage (who had clearly been expecting our bandit) set a rain of frost on us.

"Farkas, watch the bloody thief! Grab him! **_YOL TUUR_**!"

* * *

We sent a courier to the trader, letting him know his horse would wait for him at the Whiterun stables. He could pay for his horses's lodging once he got there, I didn't care. Or he wouldn't be able to afford it, and I would sell the wretched thing. With the damn bandit behind bars, there was only Vilkas to worry about.

It was mid- morning, meaning we were expected back over 12 hours ago.

"The hole is not too big, if you press the fur like this, it won't be visible." I tried to reassure Farkas.

"Aye, but what about all the burns by the leg? Should've warned me before you tried your dragon trick."

"Hey, you should've warned your brother you were taking his stuff!"

"You won't tell, will you?" he asked, eyes big in fear. The poor thing.

"Of course I won't. Listen, as soon as we get in, I'll call him to my studio while you place it back on his room." Provided he wasn't waiting for us at the hall, that is. "Just give me a second, please. I'll be right back."

"Oh, are you going to check for peaches?"


	7. The nightmare you'd been waiting for

They were the sweetest peaches I'd ever tasted. We were a long way from the Imperial plains where they were grown, so they were overripe and dripping with juice. Moreover, I had been waiting for them for over 10 days.

I headed to the Sleeping Giant on my own, just two seconds after taking the first bite. Delphine's plan turned out to be surprisingly well thought out, complete with a man on the inside. Well, a mer on the inside. High Ambassador Elenwen was throwing a very important reception, providing a unique chance for an outsider to enter their heavily guarded fortress in the middle of nowhere. Malborn, Delphine's Bosmer infiltrator, had secured me a very official looking invitation, and would take care to smuggle me some weapons beforehand.

Ambassador Elenwen threw parties all the time for her usual favourites, though this one was to be particularly grand and include plenty of first-time guests, so I would be able to keep a relatively low profile. Once at the party, I should be able to sneak out of the ballroom, find Elenwen's studio, and look for all evidence I could get my hands on. Delphine had even procured me a relatively detailed map of the inside of the embassy, including the entrance to a tunnel that could serve as an emergency exit.

Doesn't that sound easy? Of course it doesn't. I was probably going to die that night, but I'd do so in a fancy gown and wearing my best pieces of jewelry – including some that I'd made myself.

A few days later, I set off to Solitude alongside Athis, who wanted a chance at slaying a dragon. I was more than happy to take him along – Aela was no longer an option, since she could not stand in the same room as Delphine; Farkas, Torvar, and Ria were not cut out for sneaking; Vilkas was better off not knowing anything, since he'd probably disapprove of such "dishonourable methods". He was too busy enjoying his position of acting Harbinger either way.

Travelling with Athis left little room for childish games or gossip, although his passing remarks were usually hilarious to those who'd understand them. Our joint status as outsiders in Skyrim had turned us into quick allies and made him somewhat protective of me, always quick with a warning whenever I could break a local rule or to point out some strange use for a local plant. Nobody could ever know, of course, as all these exchanges where always conducted with the deepest frown he was capable of, lest someone would think he was going soft.

Nonetheless, when we heard a dragon's roar just past the town of Dragon Bridge, I could've sworn he smiled.

* * *

Solitude looks so Imperial, it felt like someone had frozen the posh side of Anvil. Surrounded by rich stone buildings and Imperial coats of arms, I half-expected to run into someone I knew. Even the disdainful attitudes of some of the shop-keepers around reminded me awfully of Anvil. What an unsettling thought.

After we finished getting a proper feel of the town, we headed to the local inn, the Winking Skeever, to rent a couple of rooms and wait for Malborn's appearance. He was a frail-looking, slightly affected bosmer who seemed more adept at managing a library than at conspiring, but I suppose that was the brilliancy of the plan. He would not speak of what the Thalmor did to his family, although I knew from Delphine that they'd been "purged" – and when I tried asking, I saw a flash of the same anger as Hadvar's when asked about his mother and Markarth.

Athis turned out to be the best possible ally in this task. He clearly knew a thing or two about infiltrating and smuggling goods (I should ask him how he escaped Morrowind, someday). He helped me choose which weapons and potions to take, memorise the map Delphine had given me, and even stayed with me throughout the interview with Malborn.

He even went as far as arranging my carriage for the next day, ordering meals, and letting people know at the inn that I was thane of two holds ("a stranger prancing around their reception may not be allowed to leave" he pointed out), without me having to ask him to – essentially, thinking for me so I wouldn't have to, since that would only lead to me being too aware that I was walking straight into the sabre cat's den, armed with nothing but a pretty smile and rehearsed pleasantries.

After my departure, he'd wait for me for two full days – in case I may need to hide around the woods for a while. If I didn't turn up, he'd head to the East Empire Company's warehouse and take care of a minor job, then return undisturbed and tell Vilkas to continue taking care of everything.

* * *

From the age of 18 to 23, I had plenty of engagements that required me to doll myself up and play a role, even if a more straightforward one. The price of failure had never been anything more than a refund and, perhaps, further loss of reputation.

I had been nothing but an underfed wench back then, though, I realised as I began dressing myself. Used to having to hide my intimidating height, my slouched shoulders would make me look out of place in bare-shouldered gowns; and while the grime of the docks can be washed off for a night, the sallow and blotched complexion it left behind couldn't.

Now, months of training, fighting, and living outdoors had given my skin an even colour and made me develop enough muscles in my legs and back to carry myself upright effortlessly – plus, I no longer had to hide my height either way. Even my hands, which used to be always gloved, were now callused and not without some bruises, but I no longer kept wringing them as if I didn't know where to place them.

My sharp knees and protruding ribs had been softened over months of daily meals; the flabby arms and back, which used to be "mannish", were now strong and graceful. I could now fill the bust of my party dress (a deep crimson velvet piece, much finer than anything I'd ever owned) and my neck could proudly carry the weight of my "new" sapphire circlet (so I took it off a draugr wight, big deal. That draugr had been an elegant person once, and I'd crafter the matching ring and necklace myself). Even my pointy features now looked serene instead of haughty. I had never felt closer to truly beautiful, which only strengthened my desire to live. Was this what I came to Skyrim for?

Finally, it was time. Carriages could be seen picking up other guests down the street, and mine would arrive soon too. I made one last effort to convince myself that I had always been as graceful and owned many shiny things.

"Aye, you look ready to snag some fancy heir or something." Said Athis as a farewell. "Which you should, should you finally kill all the damn dragons."

* * *

The Thalmor embassy was just half an hour north of Solitude, on top of a hill. The fiercely guarded fortress had been lavishly decorated, the road up to it completely illuminated with magelights, the surrounding gardens full of golden or glowing garlands. Clearly a show of might more than mere desire to please Elenwen's guests, I thought, as I noticed the double circle of security surrounding it.

I'd have to get off the carriage outside, as a patrol of Imperial soldiers made sure only invited guests would even approach the outside gate.

Once past the main gate, not even soldiers would be allowed, and Thalmor agents would handle all security. Malborn had warned me as much, at least, and I suspected the short walk between the first gate and the actual entrance to the building was meant to give guests a chance to flaunt themselves a bit.

You're fine, Sira. Just act like you're used to bossing soldiers around. As I got off my carriage, I noticed a well-dressed hand appear in front of me, ready to help me down.

"My Jarl! What a wonderful surprise!"

Jarl Siddgeir gave me his more peacockish smile, and kissed my hand as soon as I was down.

"A most lovely surprise indeed. I was just beginning to get bored of Elenwen's constant parties, I am so glad to find my hold's most precious jewel here."

Talos guide me, the man is a brazen bootlicker. He probably hopes we'll go back to the same inn tonight.

"Oh, please don't make me blush." Best to go along with the game. If I can't find anyone friendly to mingle with inside, I could do much worse than him.

"My apologies. May I escort your lovely blushed cheeks inside?"

Shit, Siddgeir. You should be blushing out of shame. Let's give you something to brag about, I thought, as we began walking up to the fortress, arms entwined.

"Of course. So you are a frequent guest at the Embassy?"

"But of course, my Sira! Elenwen is always inviting me her receptions, almost every month. I've known her long enough to appreciate her excellent taste in food and wine. Of course, sometimes I can't come, I'm busy ruling my hold, I tell her! And they are _boring_ sometimes, full of the same stiff lickspittles and merchants, discussing the war effort. This time, however, I see she's making an effort to offer people like us a more refined entertainment."

"Indeed, the evening looks promising, especially now."

"Ahh, Sira, you sly vixen! We'll have fun tonight, you'll see. If only these soldiers would move the line along already. Who do they think they're dealing with?" He turned to the blonde, slim soldier approaching us. "Let's make this quick, come on! I am a Jarl, not some gem peddler!"

"Surely, my Jarl, it's best if he takes his time? It would make me feel safer, at least. Imagine some Stormcloak infiltrate, causing a scene, or even harming you!" I'm no Stormcloak, but right now I could punch you, my Jarl.

"Your concern makes you even lovelier, my Sira, but it's wholly unjustified. The Thalmor are experts at security. Furthermore, I've got my very own Dragonborn to defend me, don't I?"

"Always." I replied. Ugh.

With the corner of my eye, I spotted a familiar mane of auburn hair, and my wolf senses got an even more familiar scent of leather, rain, and Riverwood. My smile froze somewhat. Fuck security, I need to get inside before he sees me. Just a few more minutes – he seemed to be in charge of something else, at least, and sunset was nearly over. Not enough light for him to recognize me over 40 feet away?

"Hmph. Yes, Jarl Siddgeir, welcome, and milady is…"

"Sira Caronte, thane of Falkreath and Dragonborn." Replied Siddgeir for me. Oh, for fuck's sake, is he going to tell everyone I'm Dragonborn?

I felt like pointing out I was also Thane of Whiterun and Harbinger, just because two can play at that game. However, 40 feet away or not, Hadvar had clearly heard my name. He turned towards us, and gaped at my sight. It was a _sad_ gape.

Oh, shit. I will never be able to explain this.

"Alright, please come inside, my jarl, my lady."

Hadvar kept looking at us. At my jewels, my dress, and the well-known sycophant who held my arm and loudly called me "my Sira." There was no denying each other now – only escaping.

I tried my best version of Aela's side smile, gave a careful nod in his direction, and stepped inside the Thalmor Embassy.


	8. The labyrinth

"My Jarl…"

"Sira, call me Siddgeir already, like the close friends we are."

I smiled at him, seemingly flattered. As if I didn't know already he adores deference.

"Siddgeir, then. Do you think it's wise to tell the guards I'm the Dragonborn? They might think me dangerous."

"If they do, all the best. I would not like for someone else to come snatch you away, my sweet. Some of those soldiers were so brazen, they should be demoted! How dare they ogle the woman by my side!"

Right, how dare they. Although I'd spent the night at Falkreath's Longhouse at least half a dozen times, I was aware to be sharing that privilege with at least four other women, which would render this little possessive charade ridiculous. Once inside the party, however, Siddgeir's excessive flattery began to make sense. It was clear he was nowhere near the favourite of Elenwen's that he pretended to be, but as the Dragonborn was an object of curiosity, he was back on the spotlight.

I located Malborn behind the bar, giving orders to two servants. I nodded towards him, but kept my distance, as I was being introduced and paraded around by Siddgeir. He had a point, this was what life should be all about: fine drinks, exquisite finger food, soft laughs, and an impressive name ready to act as if he cherished you. If at least for one night only, I should enjoy it. The mission could wait.

I barely managed to hold my façade against the owner of Black-Briar Meadery, and an incredibly haughty Thalmor agent, Ondolemar. What's worse, the latter reminded me strongly of Alivar, even if he had none of his sugary flattery – he was arrogant as Oblivion, but at least honest about it.

At the first opportunity, I offered to fetch Siddgeir some drinks. At last, I had a chance to talk to Malborn. He instructed me to create a distraction as soon as possible, to give us the chance to slip out down the back.

"You see that Redguard who can barely stand up? His name is Razelan. I would try with him, he's always talking more than he ought. Or try Erikur, he has an eye for the lasses. Maybe he can fight that loud companion you brought."

"I didn't bring him, just bumped into him."

" _I don't care._ Ditch him before he makes you too obvious."

Just from the amount of times he had already told everyone my name and full list of titles, I already knew I'd be forever hunted by the Thalmor – which is better than dead.

I headed back towards him just as he discussed wine quality with two Imperial merchants. I made an extra effort with my accent, and they greeted me as an equal (or at least they pretended to). If I stayed quiet, I'd be able to keep that charade for long enough, but I had a distraction to arrange – and my cheeks were beginning to feel tense from the all the fake laughing.

"Ah, my Sira, thank you! This is the lady I was just telling you about, abandoned a textile emporium down at the coast to come be our folk hero!"

Shit, I really hope neither of them is from anywhere near Anvil.

"A folk hero? That's an unusual occupation for lady." Said the tallest merchant, whose head ended right above the bridge of my nose. I'd forgotten that feeling.

"Oh, Siddgeir jests. I wouldn't use the word _folk hero_ …"

"Of course not – added Siddgeir – she just does favours for the smallfolk and they sing songs of her in return. We like to keep such traditions alive, here in Skyrim, keeps the rabble from turning to such vagrants like the Stormcloaks."

Right, change the subject, now!

"A most unfortunate situation, the Civil War. It disrupted a lot of our fur supply lines."

"Ah, so you decided to come fix the issue yourself? Such entrepreneurship." A shorter trader asked, with only the slightest hint of irony. What a waste of my time.

"And to steal our hearts, in her spare time." I could've almost believed Siddgeir, had I not known him for three months already.

Through one of the mirrors in front of me, I could see Razelan stumbling upon our direction. If only I could move just in front of him…

"Oh, but only because Skyrim stole my heart first. I have found some truly divine people and sights here. Have you seen an auro…AARGH! Sir!"

I turned around sharply to face Razelan, while kicking him right behind the shin. Drunk as he was, he fell to the floor in front of me.

"Sir, how dare you? This man…" this was not going to work. Suddenly everyone was looking at me.

"What did he do? Did he touch you?"

"Yes, he… I had never, in my entire life… some complete stranger just…" Oh, the virginal damsel in distress. My best act.

"I didn't… I beg your pardon, milady. I did not mean to…"

"This is unacceptable! I should challenge you to a duel right away!" Siddgeir seemed too willing to look at this as a personal insult at _him_ , the self-centered pig. Cannot deal with these people. If I could, I would burn them all.

Elenwen appeared out of nowhere. I'd burn her first, and revel in Vilkas' laughter at the sight.

"Razelan, you promised you'd behave."

"Oh, my dress has been stained, too!"

Malborn was right behind me there. "If milady would be so kind, we could go to the back to help remove the stain?"

While everyone was too occupied trying to cancel the duel, Malborn led me by the hand into the kitchens.

"That shouldn't have taken you so long."

* * *

Going back to my armour felt oddly reassuring. Did I really come to Skyrim meaning to find my place among people like Siddgeir and those oily, sleazy merchants?

For once, I should thank Alduin.

Athis had left me five invisibility potions, which had to be used sparingly. I tiptoed down the first corridor until I located two soldiers in gilded elven armour.

First potion wasted. The fancy doors at the Embassy did not creak, at least, and I made it out into another room, where I slit a Thalmor's throat before he had time to scream. His cloak would be useful – I'll be the shortest, stoutest agent around, oh well.

Once his body was neatly tucked inside a closet, I continued unnoticed until the inner courtyard. It was heavily guarded, with at least five elves going up and down – but it was also the only way into Elenwen's quarters.

There were two ways to go about this: the stupidly bloody one (which involved killing everyone) and the senselessly cocky one (which would require great stupidity on behalf of the guards). Both were most likely to end up with me dead, but at least the second one would be silent.

It was hard enough to walk without my armour making noise under my robes, not to mention my swords. My heart felt like it was about to come out of my chest. I wondered if Altmer had extra fine hearing, the way werewolves do. I kept walking, shoulders tense, face up, as if I owned the fucking place, pretending not to notice the guards.

Three of them – the ones stationed up the stairs – were suddenly called into the main building and ran off. Shit, had they found the body? The other two did not seem to notice anything until I was just by the door. At last. My breathing must have changed, because they guard just by the door turned to me.

"Hey, you! Who…"

I took out my swords and run them down his throat in one swift movement. Then, opened the door with my left hand, while ramming my right sword into the other guard's lower stomach. Elenwen's office seemed empty, so I barred the door, just in case.

Muffled voices began sounding, but I couldn't determine if they came from up or down. I could see the stairs leading up, but they weren't on Delphine's map, I swear. I knew about the cellar – it was supposed to be my way out – but it seemed an unlikely place to hold a conversation.

Better be sure now than to risk someone getting my back later on. Bow in hand, I snuck upstairs. A Thalmor officer and his human informant were discussing someone's interrogation, who was supposed to lead them to information on dragons. So they knew nothing as well.

Out of the two, the Thalmor was the most dangerous, so he got the poisoned arrow. The informant seemed pissed enough about being shortchanged, but I couldn't let him raise the alarm. He was nothing but a beggar and a traitor either way: judging from their conversation, he'd sold out a friend, an Etienne. Nobody's heart will weep for him. The bards will call for toasts on my name.

I found their report on the dragon investigation on a drawer, alongside "dossiers" on Delphine and Ulfric Stormcloak. I should've felt guiltier for looking into them, but I suppose I had my own doubts about Delphine still. At the very least, I learned she had a right to be paranoid. She was listed as "capture or kill" and "high priority". Surely she'd think that a badge of honour.

Ulfric Stormcloak, on the other hand, was an "asset", once who had been manipulated by Ambassador Elenwen after being "broken". I shuddered. His dossier mentioned both the "Markarth Incident" (why did that ring a bell?) and the one at Helgen. It looked like Alvor had been right, the Thalmor were glad Ulfric had survived.

We are all puppets in their interrogators hands – except the dragons.

Time to head out. I searched a couple of dressers for the keys, and then moved onto the cellar.

* * *

There was no cellar. Instead, on the other side of the trapdoor I found the elaborate playground of a most degenerate sadist. The stench of blood, faeces, and pain overwhelmed me. Two bodies hung from two different cells, one clearly dead from days ago. The other one may be the prisoner they'd been discussing upstairs – the one who knew something on dragons.

No better way to earn a dying man's loyalty than to release them and heal their wounds. Once awake, Etienne told me they had only imprisoned him because they believed he knew about a man in Riften, an Esbern. He helped me find the dossier where they'd written down information about him.

Apparently, Esbern was a Blade. I felt tempted to go through some more drawers, maybe I could find more Blades hiding around Skyrim. Nope, foolish way to risk your life.

I headed towards the exit tunnel with Etienne. He was too weak to move the trap door by himself, so I helped him and let him go first. Goodbye, bloody labyrinth. Steps came from the gallery on my left. Two Thalmor soldiers held Malborn.

"Time to stop running! Yield or we kill him!"

My bow was stashed away. I had no range weapon at hand, and my feeble fire could not kill two Altmer before they sparked me to death. Malborn's eyes were round with fear, though, begging me to at least try.

"Fine. Kill him."

Their ridiculously ornate dagger slashed Malborn's throat. The soldiers dropped his corpse, kicked it away, and ran down the stairs, ready to apprehend me.

 **"FUS RO DAH"**

The strength of my shout broke the wooden stairs below them, and they fell to the floor, only to be axed in the face as soon as they landed. I dropped the steel axe back on the floor, and run down the trap door.

The outside world greeted us with the noise of horse hooves and steel clinking. There were search parties everywhere, looking for us – for me. Best to split up, hopefully Etienne was not as familiar with the wild as I was and he could be caught on his own.

Clearly, Etienne thought the same of me. I'd like to think he's still alive somewhere. I was left on the densely forested hill on my own, to try and make some distance between me and the embassy before the sun came back up. At two points I came dangerously close to search parties, and judging by the accents, they were made up of both elves and legion soldiers alike. I did not hear Hadvar's voice among them, but couldn't decide if that was good or not.

I reached the main road well before dawn broke. I kept walking towards Solitude, out in the open, still hidden in Thalmor robes. Some farmers called me "milkdrinker" when they thought I couldn't hear them, but I was too glad of hearing farmers again to mind. Plus, they were really saying it to the Thalmor I'd killed. Now it was just a couple of miles until I was back into the city, where I could ditch the cursed disguise and re-enter the Stinking Skeever as Sira, in my usual armor.


	9. Promises gone stale

Stupid finger food is no real food for a warrior, I thought, as I tried to squeeze an extra layer of cheese inside my bread.

"Azura's grace, Sira. Did you think you'd never eat again?" Athis asked, while he munched his usual hard boiled eggs.

"I had no dinner last night, allright? Turns out nobles don't eat. If only I'd known…" The fact that we were having breakfast at 11 made my appetite all the more orcish.

"Sure. Let's hold the laughter until later. What time are we meeting the East Empire's representative?"

"Tomorrow, a couple of hours after first light. He'll give us more details then, all I know now is what he told Vilkas when drafting the contracts, there's some smuggler pirate ring that needs to die. Apparently they've bribed the people at the lighthouse to 'cause' a few wrecks, so if we find any evidence of that we may get extra, I hope. Remember to ask."

No amount of food would finish erasing the stench of the torture dungeons, so I tried my next best trick: to make myself compulsively busy. I had looted a few select pieces out of the embassy – fine clothes and enchanted jewellery, all rather valuable, so I spent all morning locating the highest bidder. Then I dragged Athis into Angeline's Aromatics, the local apothecary, and forced him to lecture me on 15 different ingredients that Arcadia was unlikely to stock. We even ran an unpleasant errand for the owner, which required us to go all the way to the Blue Palace and back. It was all no good – every blink I gave still summoned Malborn's pleading eyes.

Oh, just kill him already. Just not in that dungeon, please.

Next phase in the art of forgetfulness was to go back to food and mix it with copious amounts of wine. Back at the inn, however, we had no such luck. I intended to glue myself to the bar until Athis had to carry me back to my room, but I had only emptied my glass twice when a familiar voice brought chills down my spine.

"So, what happened to the Sira I left in Whiterun?"

Shit, I'd rather bring Malborn back. Hadvar stood right behind me, his voice dripping with resentment. I turned around to find him in civilian clothes, sleeves rolled up, his hair free and all over the place. He truly looked like a delicious farmboy. One that I'd hurt many months ago, and who very evidently hated me.

"She's right here." A stupid thing to point out, really, but I had to try. "For just a couple of days. Companions business."

"Companions business, eh? That looked about right, last night." Between his piercing gaze and my shame, I was likely to fall off my stool any minute.

"Yes. _Brief_ Companions business." I repeated. An awkward pause followed. I expected him to yell at me or leave me alone, not to stand there and stare, as if measuring my guilt. I couldn't take it anymore.

"Just say it. I'm an idiot, an ungrateful idiot who knows nothing but to run away. I know I am. Just…" I was trying to keep my voice as emotionless as possible, but it refused.

"I believed we had something. You were all smiles and gazes and flirts and I thought they meant something, stupid me. And then you just turned around and left, but even after that night, I didn't think you so cold. I waited for you, kept checking the lists to see if you'd enrolled. And look in which list you turned up! I should've known, smiles and teasing words, that's just second nature to you fancy Imperial ladies, eh?"

His anger was clearly too fresh. Damn Siddgeir, proclaiming my name about. It was not my fault. I did nothing wrong. I would not scream.

"I… believed we had nothing, first. You pushed me away! And then everything went wild, and you said Riften and I didn't understand what that meant. If I stayed away, it's because it was never _just nothing_ to me! I felt stupid for being too forward first, and then felt stupider for not understanding what you were suggesting… I was angry."

"Sure you were. That's why you chose to attach yourself to the first puffed-up big-shot who gave you shiny things?!"

To my left, I heard Athis snort. I had forgotten he was there at all, but was not about to acknowledge him.

"Excuse me? What exactly are you saying? Speak clearly, as the nord you are."

"I'm saying, even after that little scene back at my uncle's, I thought better of you! I did not think you'd be the kind of _lady_ who attaches herself to a known lickspittle who changes trophy every two weeks! You were going to join the Legion, then be a Companion, and then some idiot noble buys you a fancy necklace so you…"

I slapped him strongly, square on the face. It made enough noise for people to turn around. Hadvar was still rubbing his cheek when Athis decided it was a good time to intervene. He turned around and asked:

"Everything allright here, my Harbinger?"

Gods bless him, that was smooth.

"I can handle it, Athis. I'll be fine. Are you heading to your room already?" I asked, hand softly placed in his arm, in the sweetest voice I could muster.

"Sure, I suppose I've eavesdropped enough already. Aela is going to love this." With the best impression of her side smile, he walked away.

At last, Hadvar dared to talk again.

"Harbinger? Of the Companions?" Oh, don't you dare smile at me like you're about to congratulate me.

"Yes. Well-known dragonslayer, too" I did not dare to say Dragonborn. "And thane of Whiterun, _and_ thane of Falkreath. And perfectly capable of buying her own shiny things and being invited to Embassy receptions out of my own merit. Of course, you'd rather think of me a pretty trophy. I was damn right to stay away from you!"

He hid his face with his hands. Yes, feel embarrassed.

"Oh, Sira, I'm sorry. This was uncalled for. I was… blinded by rage, which is unlike me, I'd like to think, but I was very shocked to see you, and he was acting as if you were involved."

"Ah, but of course. He acted as if he owned me and everyone else in the building, and he does like to surround himself with women – but we're not involved. I provided a service for him months ago, and he made me thane, and we call each other friend, but that's it."

"Of course, and in truth you don't really owe me an explanation." Of course I didn't, yet I'd realised I cared what he thought of me. There were no mirrors around, but I'm sure I looked as sad as he did.

"Right. We owe each other nothing. Is that how you'd like it to be?"

He continued looking at the floor. If one of us is going to go for the waterworks, it should be me, right?

"So what are you doing here, Hadvar? At the inn, in civilian clothes, I mean. Is it your day off?" This should take us to a happier topic, right?

"I'm on leave without pay, actually. We all are. The whole squad that was handling security at the Embassy last night. For two weeks, go figure."

"Oh. You mean you got suspended? Why?" Shit, talk about unexpected consequences.

"Apparently there was an incident during the party. One of the guests was an impersonator, it seems, snuck out of the party, killed some Thalmor agents. The Ambassador was furious, so my Legate thought it best to suspend us to appease her – before she had us interrogated, I suppose, thinking we'd helped."

"Shit. But that's hardly fair! The Thalmor are a scary lot, to be sure. So… did they catch him?"

"As far as I know, no, they didn't catch him… or her" He was back to staring at me again. "They're hardly ever open about anything, though."

"Right, they do have that reputation." This conversation cannot get any grimmer. "Would you like to move to a table so we can eat something? My treat."

He took a step closer to me. I got off my stool, thinking he was just going to hold my arm on the way to a table. Stupid, stupid Sira.

"Sure, I'll let you buy me food. First, though, I will fill you in a little secret." He placed a hand around my waist, slightly too forcefully. "They made us check the guest list after the party, as the guests left. The guests would not know that anything had happened, of course, but we did. We had to make sure everyone who came in was accounted for on the way out. At some point, I held the full list of departing guests. Guess whose name wasn't there?"

If there was a time to fake confidence, now was it.

"Oh, doesn't the Empire love their lists? Did you have time to check that closely? There were over 300 guests."

"Sira, drop the act."

"Shouldn't my official interrogator tell me that? Are you about to arrest me?"

He backed down, and return to his usual gentle manner. "Of course not. And there will be no official interrogator. I… just wanted to see your name, I guess. I don't know if any other names were missing, but yours no longer is."

"What do you mean?"

"I added it when nobody was looking. There, I tampered with one of our beloved lists, happy? So as far as the Legion is concerned, you left with everyone else. The Thalmor probably ran their own count, of course…"

"Why?" I asked, still coldly. He would not see me cry. Not even if he placed his hand on my cheek, as he was doing, threatening to kiss me.

"How can you ask me that, Sira? You know why. I wanted to make sure you're fine. As angry as I was from seeing you with that… man, and as confused over you doing something like that… I mean, what were you thinking, Sira?"

"I can't tell you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't. I want you to be fine too."

"But it's no Companions business, I'm sure."

"It's a dragon business. That's all you can know."

"Ah, Sira. What happened to you? It all seemed simpler back then, didn't it?" His hand had moved from my cheek and onto my hair, and he was holding me close, as if he feared I'd run away.

"Yes, everything was simpler when it was just the one dragon. Please don't ask anything else. I don't want to lie to you."

"Right, I'm sure you never want to lie to anyone. Are you still that sweet inside? You've changed a lot, you know? Yesterday, when I saw you, I noticed. You stand differently. You look almost taller, fiercer, regal. But I'd like to think you're the same inside – when you're not barking orders to companions and infiltrating embassies."

"No, Hadvar, stop. You think…" You think I was ever sweet? You persist on thinking me so? Are you blind?

"Just tell me, did I ever have a chance?"

"You still have it. Just not now. The dragons are not gone."

He held me tighter than I'd ever been kissed or fucked.

"We'll see about that. Take care, my sweet."

With that, he turned and walked away.

* * *

At least I wasn't the only one messing with powers I couldn't understand. Our bandits were led by a Thieves Guild renegade who had acquired, somehow, the main beacon lighting Meridia's temple, and was using its light to mislead incoming ships and cause them to wreck.

As a business idea, it was well rounded profit. There was the minor detail, of course, of desecrating a Daedric temple – and even having the nerve of establishing his hideout on its entrance. The approximately 10 associates did not live long after our arrival. Time to pack up, collect our money, and head home.

"Right, so which way was the stairs to the beacon?" said Athis, as I finished pocketing the last of their coin purses.

"What are you talking about?"

"The Beacon. Meridia's beacon. We should return it to its rightful place."

As a Dunmer, I knew he worshipped Azura, and no longer cared when he called her name during battle. It was a special case, though. I mean, I'm not particularly religious, as I always found my mom's reliance on the Kynareth temple to be more of a bother. But, mate, _daedra_. I can praise or ignore Talos as much as convenient, but daedra are worshipped by obscure characters who are not to be trusted.

Best not to tell him that.

"Right. I think the stairs were outside. Shouldn't take much, eh? Want me to stand guard while you do it?"

Athis sighed. "If it bothers you that much, you can get a head start back to Solitude."

"And abandon my brother? Nope. I'll go with you."

Messing with the beacon was probably bordering on breaking some law. However, when Meridia's statue started speaking to us, ordering us to get rid of Markoran, a necromancer who was defiling her temple, there was little choice in the matter. Daedric princes are not exactly forgiving, and killing necromancers is a laudable action no matter who gave the order, right? Surely no Vigilants of Stendarr would see us.

We advanced through the temple's inner halls and shrines, getting rid of all corrupted shades and skeletons we encountered. There were plenty – this was no apprentice dark mage, clearly. Anticipation for that final battle made us overexcited and reckless. When we finally reached the inner chamber, I thought little of the small gang of minions protecting him, and went straight for the kill.

What a bad, bad idea that was.

Athis had been covering my back for most of the way, but he still deserved a heads up before I jumped for it. I did not give him a heads up. While he managed to get rid of all the shades protecting him, he did not do so effortlessly. I don't know how long he remained unconscious after beating them, while I faced Markoran one-on-one. All I know is that at some point, when Markoran was close enough to dying, Athis stood up, vacant-eyed, and headed straight for me.

The scream of absolute fear got stuck on my throat. At first, I feared him dead and resuscitated through dark arts, but my wolf smelled blood still pulsing through his veins. He was just possessed, and I could not bring myself to kill him.

I ran to the opposite corner of the room, to continue throwing fire at Markoran. Once he was dead, surely the spell would break? But after his body felt limpless to the ground, his spirit kept throwing spells at me. I would not be able to fend them both off at the same time, not without simply killing Athis.

No, this was my friend. His face had little left of his usual expression, but he was still in there, damnit!

I slammed my shield to his head, staggering him for a bit – just long enough to disarm him. Then I faced Markoran's head-on, like a complete berserk. He had to be defeated. I ignored the frost daggers stuck on my body and the arms, no, the friendly hands closing my neck. The spirit was getting weaker, and if I stopped to think or breathe or scream, I would die. If I did not breathe right now, I would die.

The last thing I saw was my shield-brother's face on top of mine, either enraged or blank or crying. The last noise was that of my bones cracking.

* * *

"She's awake already! Call the guard." A hoarse voice said.

"She is still very weak. Surely the questions can wait?" Someone with flowing robes was just by my bed, saying that. Probably a healer. What questions can wait? Two guards approached me, one of them immediately removed his helmet.

"Miss? I'm Silmar, captain of the Solitude city guard. I have a few questions for you, is that allright?"

"Do I look allright?" I nearly choked just from the effort of saying that. Where was Athis? He better be off fetching me a glass of water.

"Clearly not, but we'd like to know what happened. You were brought here by a Dunmer who claims to be your brother, heavily injured, nearly strangled to death. Would you like to report him for attempted murder?"

"What? What are you talking about? Where is he?" Of course he would get charged with the assault. Technically it was him, but go explain demonic possession to such a bigoted oaf.

"Miss, listen to me. If you had a… couple's quarrel, and he tried to murder you over it, breaking three ribs and your elbow, then you must report it so we can protect you."

"Are daft or what? Did he not tell you he's my brother? WHERE IS HE?"

"We are just making sure he doesn't escape. It's clear he's not really your brother."

"Shield brother. RELEASE HIM, NOW!"

"This is no place to hold an interrogation or a shout match!" Flowing-robed wimp again.

"This is no place to act on prejudice either! Listen, I'm the Harbinger of the Companions. I don't need your protection!" Well, I was gravely injured, so maybe not the best thing to say. "We were getting rid of bandits for the East Empire Company. Bandits! _Nord_ bandits! They did this to me! Not my shield brother. He saved my life! I demand they release him immediately."

"Can we check with someone from the Company to see if they truly hired the Companions?" Captain Asshole asked someone else. They would not even believe me.

"Oy! I'm telling you! If you don't want the rest of Jorrvaskr to send you to Oblivion, release my friend! Shame on you, stupid bigot!"

"Right. Let's release the gray one. Do we have a calming potion for the girl?"

"Chauvinist, bigoted mammoth! How dare…" Something was pushed down my throat and I went back to sleep.

* * *

The cart was not as comfortable as a bed, but I wanted my bed – and Athis was rather eager to get out of Solitude as well. The ride back to Whiterun was still tense, he was too scared, angry, or both, to talk. I was sick of pretending to sleep, though.

"Aela said once that we only get one soulmate, one person we can be comfortably silent with. Clearly I'm not about to marry you, so just tell me what the fuck happened.

"I came back to my senses after Markoran's spirit died. I was afraid you'd died, but then you didn't, so I carried you back to Solitude to fetch a healer. Ran into your farmboy friend, he was going to help me arrange a cart for us, since it was clear you'd not be up for the trek for a while. In retrospect, bad decision." He would not look at me. Clearly he still humiliated by the whole incident – I've been called "milkdrinker" and "stinky imperial" enough times, but never been accused of anything based on my race. Even if I were the type to empathise, I probably couldn't.

"Right, caught trying to flee. Well, only the 15th bad decision we took that day, eh? We'll be home soon."

"Right. We'll be home soon."

"Athis?"

"Yes?"

"I'm so glad we're both alive. Thank you for sticking with me inside that stupid temple."

"Thank you for your passionate defense of my innocence. I don't think you'd screamed so much since the golden age of your rivalry with Vilkas."

"I trust they were not too awful to you?" Other than throwing you into jail because of racial prejudice, I'm sure they were lovely.

"Not my first visit to a prison, Sira. I'm sorry I tried to kill you."

"You know I know it wasn't you, right? That wretched necromancer… people like that shouldn't exist."

"I know. I'm still sorry. Shouldn't have insisted to restore that damn beacon. At least we got a nice sword out of it, I guess. Go back to sleep."

I went back to pretending to sleep. Necromancers may be scum, but when I slept it was Athis' face I saw, intent on killing me. His pointy ears kept mixing with Malborn's, and I couldn't tell who was killing whom.


	10. Frightened old friends

I was trying to pack my things with just one hand, as my right arm was still on a sling. Since I like challenges and clearly this wasn't enough, I was also trying to retell a very complicated story to Aela. Since she's always up for an even bigger challenge, she was not making it easy.

"So she didn't even pretend to be glad to see you? If she truly thought you'd died, I mean…"

I had showed up at the Sleeping Giant Inn over a week after Delphine had expected me, with the documents I'd taken from the Thalmor Embassy. I'd been heavily injured on the way back (no, Sira, don't think about it!) and, to be perfectly honest, I had also expected more sympathy on Delphine's behalf. However, Delphine and Aela had disliked each other from the start, and there was no use fuelling that fire.

"Well, she did ask about the sling at first…"

"Right, with that lovely demeanour of hers, I'm sure she rushed to get you some tea."

"Maybe, if I'd asked for one. Either way, as soon as I handed her the dossiers, she flipped out at Esbern's name. I had to remind her to read the dragon one."

"That woman's nerve! You're Dragonborn, not her errand girl. They're supposed to be your errand boys, if anything."

"Well, she's got a much more delicate cover identity to guard. Plus, she has a point: if the Thalmor know nothing, this man's our best hope. Esbern was loremaster, not a foot soldier. A bookish type, you know? And right now, we have no other clues about the return of dragons."

"Right. So you have to go. Right now – we're not even waiting for your arm to get fully back in shape. You nearly died once this month already."

"And we've wasted enough time already. The Thalmor may be on their way to get him right now. I'm bringing a huge bodyguard along, am I not?"

She chuckled.

"Aye, his arms are large enough for both of you. You have no idea how thrilled he is to be taken along."

"Aela, my quiver." I was not biting that bait.

"Here it is, my dear. Full of arrows for your enemies hearts'." I was not acknowledging that smile. "Yous are heading out right after lunch, right? Try not spoiling his digestion with tales of farmboy."

I swear, I'm never trusting Athis again. Bad enough that he tried to kill me, the damn gossip.

* * *

Thanks to Linea and Martin (Vilkas' own destrier), the trip to Riften would take less than three days. The road was also one of the most used in the province, which made it relatively peaceful. Vilkas was still a quiet comrade, but ever since we'd promised each other to make an effort, it was no longer the aggressive silence of restrained insults – not even the awkward one of people who have nothing to say to each other.

At some point, his presence had become reassuring.

We had to camp once, and then spend another night at an inn. Both times, dinner conversation was pleasant, interesting, and more than polite. I had been reluctant to go into too many details about my little stint at the Embassy, but I felt relatively at ease to discuss my findings with him – and he didn't ask how I'd gotten them.

"In a rather ironic way" he pointed out while fighting with a particularly chewy piece of steak "I suppose it's very fitting that the Thalmor are not involved. All the other pieces fall together so precisely, especially Ulfric's, that there had to be one that didn't. Real life strangely arranges itself in the neat ways that it does in books."

"Is that supposed to be consolation?"

"Not quite. Although the Thalmor surely fancy themselves the authors of our book, so I'm glad their plots leave loose ends."

There was a particular loose end I had been meaning to ask – ever since I remembered it.

"Can I come to you with a stupid question now?"

"You can always come to me with questions, little one."

"Only your brother is allowed to call me that." I laughed. "What happened in Markarth like 20, maybe 25 years ago?"

He nearly dropped the piece of steak from his mouth.

"Sira, that's no stupid question. That's probably the most important question of the Civil War. Do you remember the Forsworn?"

"Sure. The romantics out west who want independence. I've killed a few already."

"After the Great War, they took total control of Markarth, and wanted to be their own province. It's not up to me to decide if they should've been granted it, or if they were good rulers. Facts are, they had deposed the jarl, who asked Ulfric to recover the city for him. Nobody knows how many died, but they say after the siege, Ulfric took all neutral citizens as foes, and slaughtered them equally, even green boys as young as 13. There were reports of tortured and mutilated women, too."

"That… explains a lot, I suppose." The look of absolute hatred in Hadvar's eyes. How does one continue living with that knowledge?

"Can I ask my own stupid question?"

"Ah, so my question _was_ stupid. Cheers to that, mate." Our tankards clinked. "Go ahead."

"What happened with Athis while you two were off? No, don't make that face. Something happened. You keep avoiding each other's gaze. Did you two fight?"

"I was not aware he was avoiding me. Must be because I'm pretty."

I really hadn't noticed. I was damn aware I was avoiding him, though.

"Sira… Did you two… get involved somehow?"

"What?"

"Oh, like you'd be the first ones to." I remembered then he had been quite close with Skjor. No wonder he hated me.

"Ah, like the Harbinger would get involved with a whelp?"

"I'll tell him you said that"

"Please, don't. Seriously now, nothing like that happened. We didn't fight either – but I've been avoiding him a bit the past few days." He tried to kill me, you see. And I witnessed a very humiliating circumstance for him. I need a better excuse than that.

"We run into Hadvar at Solitude, as you well know." I continued "Don't you give me that look, even Ysolda from the market knows it. It was horrid, and Athis ended up witnessing a side of me that… I'm an entitled, bitchy girl, we both know that, so go figure. Can we focus on the end of the world again?"

"Sure, Sira. Did I mention there's been a series of vampire attacks? The more the closer you get to Morthal."

"You reckon I should add that to my to-do list for after Alduin's dealt with?"

"Divines, no! Would be about time to spend some time in Jorrvaskr, don't you think? It gets lonely, between all those papers."

My arse be lonely. Someone's not liking their coveted job, suddenly.

* * *

Riften is no Whiterun, but it's not Windhelm either. The canals and boats are quaint, and even despite the squalor and dirt, it's clear this was once a rich city. And what part of Skyrim is not full of desperation right now? It's the end times, after all.

It's also the home of a very decayed Thieves Guild. The Anvil chapter had been very powerful and highly ritualised in their initiations, so the one here seemed downright a joke. Nevertheless, when a rather good looking red head approached me with a very interesting, frankly easy way to make myself richer, I felt strongly tempted to accept. Pickpocketing and incrimination were a specialty of my past life, and it felt like the perfect way to wash away the lavish mistakes I'd made at the Embassy party.

I probably would've, if I hadn't had Honour Personified helping me carry my burdens, and if Red Handsomeness had not called me "lass". How I hate that word. Still, even Vilkas had to endure the thief's company for a while. Riften was too big, we couldn't just walk in and locate a man we've never seen with nothing more than a first name. I had to buy a lot of mead for a lot of shady characters, while wearing my "pretty" dress – the one with cleavage.

I bribed my way with the local innkeeper through some gems (my fondness for shiny things was NOT useless) and giggled a lot at a stableboy's lame puns to find something vaguely concrete: Ratway Vaults. Barely enough information to return to Vilkas, who had given up the search and was discussing smart-man-stuff with an Imperial.

"Ah, aren't we enjoying ourselves?" I asked, not caring about the conversation I was interrupting.

"Well, you seemed to be handling yourself nicely. I'm sure I would've been in the way of your _tactical questions_."

"Quite on the contrary, my foot on your arse would've made them a bit more persuasive."

"You're just being rude now, Sira." His cheeks were flushed and his grin so wide, I knew how much fun he was having. "May I introduce you to a traveller from your province? This is my Harbinger, as you can see, a gorgeous lady used to being obeyed."

First lass, now gorgeous. Is it something in the mead here making men sleazy?

"Good evening, I'm Marcurio, the local destruction expert."

I waved a dismissive hand at him. He looked like the type who would say such things even sober.

"I'm glad we're making friends already! Now, now, where's my tankard?"

"Gods, excuse the poor manners, milady. Here, have a drink on your friend. I was hoping to keep him company, but he clearly seems to prefer a female presence." Marcurio looked frightened at me. _Great job, Sira_. He could've helped.

"Wait, no. I'm sorry. I've been most rude myself. Let's all have a drink on me? I'm afraid it might take me a while to catch up to your conversation."

It didn't, and the morning after I had a reasonably clear head. Unfortunately, Vilkas' head wasn't as pristine, and Marcurio had turned out to be useless as far as rats went. The Ratway was essentially the sewage system beneath Riften, which had somehow become a ruined city within a city, managed by the Thieves Guild.

It was also a complete labyrinth, full of vagrants and filth. The entrance to the Ratway Vaults was supposedly in the deepest section, behind a tavern known as the Ragged Flagon. Fortunately, we managed to avoid getting lost, and even hungover, Vilkas' prowess could compensate for my useless arm.

We did well not to delay the trip any longer. The Thalmor were there, just at the tavern's entrance, looking for Esbern. The people drinking there did not even bother leaving their seats while we fought and killed them. Oblivion, what a sad, grim, criminal place – the only place where you could hide from the Thalmor, apparently.

Esbern was a venerable-looking old man who reminded me slightly of Kodlak – a thinner, ragged, hungry Kodlak who could summon a deadly Frost Atronach. I could picture him by a fire, reading silly tales to a grandkid, but somehow he'd ended up living in a sewer, friendless, trusting no one. Please, Talos, don't let me end up like this.

* * *

We rode back to Riverwood as quickly as Linea and Martin would take us, staying away from main roads. Fortunately, it was still dark when we reached our destination, allowing us to slip inside the Inn without much ruckus – after forcing Vilkas to change into normal clothes behind a barn. He shouldn't have complained as much, I had to remove my clothes outdoors as well.

The embrace between Delphine and Esbern could've been reward enough for the whole trip. They had clearly been great friends, and had a lot to discuss – beyond dragons and the end of the world. I had not thought Delphine capable of such mundane feelings, with her constant paranoia and bossing around, so the sight made me hopeful.

I'd have friends like that, once everything's over, right?

Vilkas and I felt as intruders in that reunion, so we stepped outside. I would've given every septim I'd earned to have someone who would embrace me like that – so I turned to the only place I could think of where I wasn't dragonborn or harbinger: Alvor's workshop.

We were still a couple of hours away from morning, so I just sat by the veranda, staring into the river. I forgot Vilkas was behind me, and he may have even left for a while. I simply waited.

"Alvor, is that you?"

"Sira! What are you doing here? I trust everything's allright?" He made a quick gesture towards my arm "Do you need to go inside?"

"No, it's fine. I'm fine. I was just… visiting. I see you got new pelts, need a hand tanning them?"

He seemed to understand.

"Sure. Knives are over there. Let me know if you need any help."

His features were almost exactly like his nephew's, but his gestures where a world away.

I got on my knees and began working, focusing on what my fingers were doing. It was easier that way. After a while, I heard Vilkas clearing his throat.

"Looks like your… friend is waiting for you, Sira." I sensed a slight accusation in Alvor's tone.

"My Shield-brother is in no great rush, I'm sure." I lifted my eyes from the tanner. "Alvor, this is Vilkas, a fellow companion" Nothing more "Vilkas, Alvor, Hadvar's uncle." I stared at Vilkas, as if saying _Ask me who Hadvar is and I'll tan you_.

"Ah, from Jorrvaskr! Well met then, sir. I got from Hadvar's letter that you've been made Harbinger, Sira?"

Shit, he's sent a letter about our last encounter.

"I have, yes"

"Well, no wonder you hadn't been visiting lately. You must be very busy."

"I'm sorry. I've been horribly ungrateful, as I'm sure he said in his letter already."

"Don't worry about it. It makes sense that it was awkward. I tried to explain it to my nephew, you know? That he shouldn't have scared you away, with all those intense emotions about the future… I suppose these are intense times, Sira, but it wasn't entirely your fault. Now, I'm sure that with access to the Skyforge, you're not here for steel."

"Right, exactly" Vilkas said, angrily. Suddenly he looked like old Vilkas. "What are we doing here again? I'm bloody freezing"

"If you'd like to go, **THEN GO!** I'm sure… _they_ are done, so go back to the inn, I don't care!"

"I'll wait wherever I want! Your arm is still hurt anyway, and I promised Aela…" He trailed off, as if justifying his staying put.

"FINE! Do what you will."

I grabbed a bunch of ingots and began handing them to Alvor, who seemed very adept at ignoring bickering children.

"Now, Sira. You are not fine. Tell me." Alvor's voice was calm and comforting, but not emotional.

I was overflowing with emotion, so I bursted.

"I'm scared. There's dragons that for some reason only I can kill. There's dragon souls inside me, and there's a civil war, and vampire attacks, and the bloody Thalmor. And in the middle of all that, there's me and all these people I keep letting down and angering and lying to." Tears began to stream down my cheeks. "There's all these decisions I have to make, and if I make the wrong ones I'll end up dead, and if I don't die, I'm this close to ending up alone and friendless, hiding forever from elven assassins in some filthy dungeon… And Hadvar's angry at me because I didn't go join him at Solitude, but how was I going to do that?" Hiccups started "My hands are full of conspiracies and curses and Akaviri prophecies, I can't just join a side in open warfare! Even my best friend is scared of travelling with me."

Proper rivers came down my cheeks. "I know you guys make a big deal about a glorious death and Sovngarde, but I'm sorry, I don't want to go there, I want to live! And I don't want to live in some dark prison or sewer, hiding! And the only person who was there to guide me about all of this, well, he died, so I have no one."

Suddenly, I was on the floor, crying my eyes out. Must have been a pathetic sight, a scared little harlot complaining of shadows, whining next to a forge. If all shame must be lost, then so be it.

Alvor kneeled next to me.

"I have no one." I whispered in between sobs.

"Hush, hush. You have us. It's going to be fine. I promise." He handed me a rather filthy rag to wipe my face, and hugged me in a protective, delicate, somehow non-sexual way. The way you hug a daughter, I suppose. How would I know?

"Now, I'm not sure I can help you with these Akaviri and Thalmor things, but I can promise it will be fine. You'll always have Sigrid and me. And Hadvar, of course. He'll come around, trust me, I've known the lad all his life. He's used to strict plans and to play it safe, but he'll get over it. He knows it already, you know? That letter he sent with your friend, telling us you'd been injured, he wanted me to promise we'd hide you if needed. And we will."

Clearly, he was trying to accommodate what little information he had into the most reassuring words. Also, a letter through my friend? Could only be Athis. "So it'll be fine. By the time you're done with the dragons, he'll still be up there soldiering, and everything will be fine. We're very proud of you, Sira, we won't let you end up in a sewer."

"When you write back to him, will you please tell him I'm not sweet? He must forget about it." I asked

"I will not. I know you're not sweet. Between you and me, if you were a sweet girl, I'd have sent you away after the first night. He doesn't need sweet. He knows you're not, trust me. It just pleases him to think you are. Let him. We all need something to keep us going, in these grim times."

* * *

Back at the inn, some rest and a greasy stew finished restoring all the inner injuries that Alvor didn't erase with his disinterested gestures. Six months ago, I would've stayed well away from people like that, as selflessness is too unpredictable and near-impossible to manipulate. Now, I would've placed my life in his hands.

Alas, there was now another expedition to arrange, this time into the Reach. While waiting for Esbern and Delphine to come out, Vilkas and I shared an incredibly tense meal – all the complicity of the past few days was seemingly shattered during that little shouting match.

My turn to apologise, I guess. I placed my hand on top of his.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier. It was immature of me, especially in front of a stranger. I won't do it again."

Of course I will, if you provoke me, but just pretend to believe me.

"It's fine. Emotional moment for you and all. Shouldn't have yelled back." He grunted, and continued eating in silence. It will wear off.

At last, he spoke again, still hurt.

"Why didn't you ever said anything? We've been teasing you about your farmboy for months, because we thought he was just some kid you barely knew. You never mentioned you were betrothed."

I raised an eyebrow. Playing dumb didn't suit him.

"That's because we aren't. And I do know him very little – what are you getting at?"

"Going to his uncle for fatherly advice speaks of a longer acquaintance. The whole conversation, in general, implied stronger feelings than just the strangers who supposedly took you in after Helgen."

Ugh, I hate it that Smart Twin is so smart.

"Right. Is that why you look like I took your sweet roll away? Did I break your black, wolfish heart by making it look like I was available?"

A sarcastic question if there ever was one – and yet he blushed.

"Because I am available, after all. Single and free to mingle. His family, though… I have nobody else in the province, remember?"

"Right, I heard you before. Except you have us: we are your siblings, your sword and shield."

Shit, when he wants to, his voice could evoke peaches and cream.

"Will you sacrifice your war paint for the sake of emphasis?"

Our laughter came out loud, unapologetic, and synchronised.


	11. Hearth, home, and mismanagement

Exhaustion was getting in the way of our usual chats. My limbs felt too heavy to chase any deer around, and even Aela seemed hesitant to bother any bears who did not attack us first. It would've been easier to lay down and rest for what was left of the day, but Jorrvaskr awaited, with all its additional obligations.

Better to just keep walking. The stiff pain on my legs every time I moved them were turning out to be the least unpleasant part of this trip.

The expedition to Sky Haven Temple had been particularly rocky, even for our standards. While we knew the area was infested with Forsworn, we certainly didn't expect to find an Elder Dragon and octopus men guarding their camp. Delphine and Esbern were both excellent fighters, and if it weren't for them – and specifically, to Esbern's superior knowledge of dragon lore, which allowed us to tell a "common" green dragon apart from its more dangerous blood cousins or "elder" cousins – we would be dead five times already.

Well, at least two good things had come out of the experience: Delphine and Aela had finally managed to respect each other as fighters and allies, and the Blades now had proper Headquarters. They could even begin recruiting now, so long as the Thalmor remained in the dark about it. On the other hand, I had gotten a new errand: to go back to the Greybeards and learn a dragon-killing shout, just because it was depicted on a relief thousands of years old. Preventing the end-times is all about useless detours and obscure clues.

At last, the sun began to hide behind nearby mountains, and we could see the bridge not far ahead. Aela stopped and turned at me:

"This clear's not big enough for a full camp, but it will have to do. It's getting dark, and the way it's going, the Dark Brotherhood awaits on the other side of that bridge."

"Right, may as well catch us well rested." I replied, dumping my rucksack on the ground.

"Did you get a good look at the octopus men's gear earlier?" She asked, while arranging the logs for a fire.

"I did. Nothing useful, I don't expect anyone's interested in buying such horrible masks and robes. One of them held written orders, but there were vague as fuck." I was more concerned with roasting some salmon steaks than with the octopus people.

"Uh? Orders? Can I see them?"

"If you want. Basically some person called Miraak, out there in Solthsteim, thinks I must die."

"Solthsteim? That's in… Morrowind."

"A volcanic wasteland where air is toxic and nothing grows. Sounds like fun, would explain their horrid fashion sense."

"Ah, Sira. It takes _you_ to laugh at yet another group of killers. Did the old man have any information on anything?"

"Of course he didn't. He's been locked in a sewer for the past 20 years."

"No wonder he was so excited to have a temple all to himself." She sat on top of a rock and began peeling potatoes.

"Four seem enough to you, Sira?"

"Four each?"

"Don't be a pig. I'll make it six, total, otherwise you won't be able to move tomorrow. I was thinking…"

"Shit, that's dangerous."

"Sod off. I'm trying to be serious." She couldn't hide her smile, though. She rarely seemed to smile anymore. "Well, two Blades hardly seem useful, it will take them ages to just clean that big place. Clearly you could use real help out there, for the Elder and Ancient dragons Esbern mentioned. So I asked Delphine what she would need to make the Blades into a real force again…"

"You talked to Delphine? Without me forcing you?"

"Meh, exhaustion does weird things to sense. She said that with five members, it would be enough to form a corps that would make a difference – take some errands off your back. The original Blades served the Dragonborn, you know?"

"Interesting thought. I like people serving me."

"Would be funnier if I didn't know it to be true." We laughed. "So we would wear Blades armour and live at the temple, helping you hunt dragons."

"Wait. WE? You got to be fucking kidding me. You're leaving me for Delphine?"

"Sira, listen to me. First of all, I'm not leaving you – the Blades serve you! Delphine will never be my favourite person, it's true, but her cause is good. Honourable, even. I don't know, maybe you were too lost thinking about your new errands and tasks, but back at the temple, when Esbern was examining those reliefs…"

She failed to repress a shudder, and I had to look away from her. What I would've given to have her not see that prophecy!

"I never cared for history, but it's thanks to the Blades and many of its past members that we even exist now. It's a worthy purpose to give your life to, one that, frankly, I no longer feel with the Companions. Not because you're not leading us properly – all things considered, end times looming and all, you're doing great."

"Sure I am. It's just lost its purpose to you."

"You know what… who I'm talking about. We only get one other half in our lives, and if I have to keep living next to his empty room, I'll go mad. Especially now that you use the Harbinger's, and are never around anyway."

She had a point. I'd known she wasn't happy for a while, and I was flattered that she would choose to leave in a way that would still allow us to work together… but Jorrvaskr was home, and it wouldn't be as much without her.

"I… don't want you to leave. It's not my decision, of course, not as Harbinger at least. I only get to guide and counsel. As a friend, though, please don't leave just now. The idea of you giving your life to anything, really… You're kin to me, like you Nords like to say."

"Aye, I know, I'll try to stay alive enough to attend your wedding with farmboy."

"Well, I am not marrying farmboy, thank you very much. You just doomed yourself to immortality."

"Ha! I'll believe it when I see it!"

"Listen, technically that's impossible. You cannot see me not do something. In such cases, the burden of proof falls on you, once it does happen. Which will not."

"Ah, such fancy words. Looks like someone's been growing close to the librarian."

"Please don't leave yet. Seriously. You know we're short of hands already, and I know I haven't been around enough – but just let me get a couple new recruits first. The war is making it hard enough, you know? All capable warriors are taking sides, one way or the other, and there's rumours of drafting, also from both sides. And yet people need their own swords, and our mead hall needs food and fire – supplies are getting more expensive too, you know?"

"I know all that, trust me. I've been at Jorrvaskr a lot more often that you have, lately." She blew on her baked potato, trying to cool it down. "But if what you're saying is you can't bear to part with me right away, well… I won't refuse a friend."

"In that case, trust me, and put some chives in the butter with that potato. It will make it a thousand times better. Even Jarl Siddgeir liked it, and the man fancies himself an exquisite palate."

"Speaking of fancy, sleazy palates, are we going back through Falkreath? It would require an early morning tomorrow."

"I was thinking we could do Rorikstead, actually. I happen to know someone there with a hunger for adventure and no financial means to hunt it on his own."

* * *

"So, Erik? Erik the Slayer? How old are you?"

Oh, Farkas was as good as his brother at playing the intimidation game.

"He's made of decent warrior stock, mate. He killed two bandits on his own, just on the way here, and didn't complain of fatigue once. That should count as an initial test, shouldn't it? He's better than me when I first arrived."

"That is not a strong recommendation, little one. Still, if Aela saw it too..."

"I did. Nadja will have to work on his shield balance before his Trial, but the man's solid."

"In that case, welcome home, Slayer. This way to your new bunk."

"Excellent! Sira, thank you so much for the opportunity. For Stendarr, I never thought this would actually happen." If he had been too frightened to talk before, now he was likely to never shut up.

"Go, mate, go! Don't keep Farkas waiting."

I turned to Aela and winked at her.

"Should we warn him about Evil Twin? Or let him learn on his own?"

"I'm all for the second, although we may have to miss the show."

If I ever have to pick my favourite quality of Aela's, it would definitely be that fun sadistic streak. I'd almost be willing to marry her, just to prove her wrong about farmboy, if it weren't for the small detail that I don't like women like that. Believe me, I've tried.

At the moment, sadly, I had much more urgent things to take care of. The last time I'd been here, after Riften, I forgot to assign several jobs, assuming Vilkas would continue to do so – but he didn't, because the real Harbinger was around. Meanwhile, while Vilkas and I were away, the ill-will between Njada and Torvar began to get out of hand, and now it was up to the Circle to call for a return to discipline. And when I say the Circle, it seems like I should say the Harbinger, as Aela and Farkas, who had witnessed several incidents, chose not to intervene thinking it would be overstepping their boundaries.

Essentially, a ghost handed me a respected institution with over a thousand years of history, and in less than three months I was letting it sink into anarchy. Another point for Sira's list of legendary accomplishments. The bards should include an extra line about missing money in that stupid new song they sang about my coming.

Even though we had arrived in Jorrvaskr in the morning, by the time Vilkas and I finished sorting all the paperwork, dinner had passed. I am not a nice person when I'm hungry – I'm never nice, really, but a rumbling stomach makes the dragon come out with fury.

Tilma had dropped two plates of boiled cream tarts throughout the afternoon, which did not really count as real food.

"I'm done with this shit. Let's go hunting." I said, dropping my quill, only half-joking.

Vilkas frowned at me.

"I'm keeping to my original purpose to avoid transformations. If Aela and you…"

We had, a couple of times, but that was none of his business, nor the topic at hand.

"It was a joke, genius. I'm just hungry. I'd eat Linea right now. Surely you are as well?"

"You smell delicious."

"Should I open the door so there's witnesses? The Drunken Hunstman may still have food, they do late suppers. Let's go."

"No. I'll go on my own. I'll bring you something."

"Well, isn't that nice of you? Do you need to borrow money?"

"No, I just wasn't kidding when I said you smell appetizingly. Any preferences?"

"Anything but venison."

He nodded in agreement, and began to head out.

"Wait, Vilkas?"

"Aye?"

"If it's that hard for you… I mean, whenever you're ready, we'll go back to Ysgramor's tomb. Just say when, and I'll go with you."

He gave a deep sigh. "Thanks for the offer. I'll let you know. Soon." He gave me a weak smile. "We'll go together."

What, now he's mocking me because I won't go alone? _I'd go alone._

As soon as he was out, I put my legs up the desk and began rubbing my eyes, then stretching my fingers. My poor eyesight made such paperwork sessions harder than they should be, but at least I could use that as an excuse for my slow, tense handwriting. Since I'd never had half the formal education I pretended to, the sort of neat penmanship required for keeping records and adding figures was always quick to cramp my index and middle fingers. At least life made me quick when thinking about numbers, prices, and profits – so my cover was relatively clear.

The aggressive knocking on my door was not accompanied by the smell of anything edible. Hope was useless, clearly.

"Come in."

Athis walked in.

"Got any guidance for me, Harbinger?"

"Of course I do. Stay away from dragon dung, it is incredibly flammable."

"I actually had a topic in mind."

"Tough luck, since that is all I can give you today."

He sat in the chair in front of me and stared at me, as if daring me to run.

"While you were away," Bad start, every report that opened with me being away was bound to be bad. "Vilkas asked me about Solitude. Twice. The first time I dodged it, the second one I couldn't. So I tried with a vague version, that the bandits we were supposed to kill had a necromancer protecting them. I didn't even get to explain how you got injured, he cut me off and asked about your encounter with the soldier boy."

"I believe his accepted nickname is farmboy, Athis."

"Do I look like I care about your base urges? Why is he asking about that? Better yet, why is he asking so much about Solitude in general?"

The impulse to mock was too strong, but I contained it. Humiliation is an old friend, of course he wouldn't want his adopted family to know how he'd been treated as a criminal.

"It seems he noticed an odd vibe between us. He asked me too, so I said it was because I was embarrassed about my encounter with farmboy." I shrugged. "He seemed all too eager to believe I had been acting like a child."

"Not the angle I would take on the matter."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, little ice brain." Asshole. "Why the lie? You don't want to share Dawnbreaker?"

"You're welcome to it. I just got a new legendary sword at the Reach. It just didn't feel like my story to tell. Also, you know necromancers are a delicate topic for the twins." He stared at me, in a similar way I do when I want to catch a lying twitch of the mouth or sneaky eye movement. Pity he's dealing with a master: my wolf smells lies and my dragon eats liars, bitch.

"I appreciate your discretion. Here I was concerned you were scared or distrustful of me. Or worse, embarrassed of our friendship."

My heart began racing. I tried really hard not to blink, for it would bring back the memory of his possessed face.

"I _was_ embarrassed when he asked if we'd accidentally fallen on the same bed during the trip." That was true, at least.

"Oh, spare me the monstrosity of a Nord's twisted mind. Tsk tsk, poor boy." He walked away, shaking his head.


	12. Clear skies offer no refuge

Yes, I had felt like Delphine's tool at some point, fetching her information and allies when I could've been slaying dragons and making money. Surely, when her lips curved the wrong way at any mention of the Greybeards, I attributed it to her general distrust of everything that isn't her. But to have Arngeir so openly accuse me of letting myself be used by her?

"Now, thanks to the Blades, you have questions only Paarthurnax can answer."

As if I were unable to get myself entangled in problems beyond my skill level without help. Fuck that old man.

Of course, he was not familiar with the fabled Dragonrend shout. There was likely only one living person who may know the words to force a dragon to the ground: Arngeir's mysterious leader, Paarthunax, who had sequestered himself atop the highest peak in Skyrim, protected by a thick fog of bewitched frozen clouds who would kill anyone who didn't know the right shout to clear them.

As if he had never sent me on a fool's errand, either. Well, now I'm taking this to your spiritual leader. I'm the hero of legends, not some child whose custody has to be fought over, as if I were completely unable to make my own rational decisions.

If I could only keep my mind revolving around my grievances against Arngeir and Delphine, or the compulsive, harsh coughing brought about by the constant shouting, I could avoid dwelling on the fury of them having made me leave Aela behind, waiting in High Hrothgar's courtyard.

Her face of relief was probably the worst part of it all. Like most Nords, she had always despised magic, but she had also been wary of the Greybeards from the start - which made little sense, sinde they were meant to be highly respected. Moreover, on our last visit to High Hrothgar, my initiation ceremony frightened her enough that she stopped talking to me for a couple of days. Suddenly her newfound tolerance for Delphine made sense, and felt slightly like betrayal.

On the other hand, it did not feel like an ambush, not the way finding an ancient dragon atop that mountain did. My bow immediately found its way into my arms, my strongest glass arrow pointed straight at its belly.

The dragon did not Shout at me – it was more like a whisper, as if blowing air to cool down a spoonful of broth. Soothing, clearly unaggressive, but hard enough to make me drop my bow.

"Greetings, _wunduniik_. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my _strunmah_ ... my mountain?"

Seriously? I'm supposed to tell a dragon that I need the shout to kill dragons?

"I'm here to learn the Dragonrend shout. Can you teach me?"

Instead of killing me, he asked me to observe formalities. He Shouted fire at a wall, and wanted me to Shout back. And I thought the Embassy business counted as suicide. Of course, if Paarthurnax wanted to eat me, he would do so anyway as soon as I turned around.

The dragonblood runs strong in me, he said. I think he meant it as a compliment. He still questioned my motives – why did I want to kill Alduin? Why did I have to do it? Somehow, keeping the world alive just so I could have a manor with servants seemed to him like insufficient justification for all this trouble. What's worse, it was. Strange that it would take _tinvaak_ with a huge thousands-years-old monster to realise it.

There's people whose suffering wounds me now. There's a comfort in doing things that alter people's lives – I am now an agent of change, not a pawn of low birth or crappy luck. It feels bloody good to be so.

Paarthurnax seemed satisfied by that. Small consolation for the fact that he did not know Dragonrend either. However, he did seem to have some semblance of a plan about how to learn it – by using an Elder Scroll through a Time Wound, to travel back to those who invented it in the first place, thousands of years ago.

He did not look to be fond of Skooma. Near impossible as it seemed, finding an long-lost and immensely powerful magical artefact made sense when it came to time travel, in a way that fetching a horn or reopening an old temple never did. Of course it would be no foolish errand. Right?

* * *

As soon as I reached home, I hugged Farkas as if it was my job to keep him from disappearing. He giggled, only partially because of the weird gesture Aela made behind me, seemingly implying I have lost my mind.

"Uuugh, little one. Let me breath!"

"I don't feel like it." I replied.

"Don't argue with her – she's lost her last hinge while atop a cursed mountain. She's now more stubborn than your brother and less coherent than Torvar last First Planting festival." Aela pointed out, before dumping her sweaty furs on a nearby chair.

"Well, the brains of this operation are off to a long shower. It's getting dreadfully hot again, the return trip has been unbearable." She continues, and immediately left us.

"Go away, you stink." I yelled, before turning back to Farkas "Who would've known the tough Aela would practically melt at the first ray of sunshine?"

"She's not the only one. I'm dying to go for a swim. This summer will scorch everyone."

"My dear, that'd be Alduin. Good thing I now have a brand new plan against him, and no way to go around it. Is your smaller half around?"

"No, he's gone East for some reason. Should be back in a couple of days. Am I any good?"

Sure, why not. He had probably never heard of an Elder Scroll, but he was prone to abrupt bouts of social wisdom that could come in handy. Explaining it all to someone new would make me feel less stupid about it, at least.

"Are you up to a nice chat out in the back porch or would that endanger your Nordic icy heart?"

"Sure. It's usually my brain that's the problem, I hear." He jested, as we crossed the hall. It was always sweet to hear him be self-deprecating about it.

"It's contagious, too. Athis called me so the other day."

"Then you should've given him your fist."

"I was too tired. And hungry. He had sweet rolls"

We chose two chairs near the edge of the porch, so I could sunbathe while he had easy access to the apple basket.

"You always look tired now, little one. Is it the beast blood?"

"For once, it's not, or at least, it's not just the beast blood. It's one thing to get restless sleep, it's different if you simply don't sleep. I have too much to think about. Jorrvaskr crumbles around us…"

"It does not. The world does, with the war and the dragons and all. We're just part of it."

"You really are too nice for your own good. Anyway, an ancient dragon told me I need to get an Elder scroll, and relatively young monk said I should go to the College of Winterhold to see if they have one around – even though nobody's seen one for centuries, apparently it's worth the shot."

"Shit."

"My sentiments exactly."

"What's an Older Scroll? How old does it have to be?"

I chose to act as if he were joking.

"Apparently, an Elder Scroll, or Kel, is an artefact from outside time. It does not exist, but it has always existed. Thousands of years ago, the heroes who originally slayed Alduin used one to create a special Shout, and then instead of killing him, they banished him through time to some unknown point of the future – that is, now, apparently. I'm too find this Kel and take it back to the place where they broke time, to go look for them and learn this shout, so I can finish the job they wrecked."

"Uh. How do you know all this?"

"From the really old dragon, who's Alduin's younger brother, apparently."

He gave me soft, sad stare.

"I'm not mocking you, Farkas. This is why Aela thinks I've gone gaga."

"Did she not talk to this dragon?"

"She was not allowed up the Throat of the World by the bloody monks."

"Well, no wonder you can't sleep, little one. Wine?"

"Please. You don't think I'm crazy too, do you?"

"Nah. Not any crazier than everyone else lately, at least. Njada's come back from Falkreath saying she found a talking dog. We may want to look into that."

"If it's a well-behaved pup and she teaches it to do its business outside, I don't mind. How fares our new slayer?"

"Nicely. Vilkas said he's to be sent for his trial next week. Will you stay for it?"

"Sure. It's not like I've got any urgent clue to follow. I have no idea where to start, actually, so I think I'll just be Harbinging until the world ends."

"Maybe my brother will know." He scratched his stubble a bit. "This is serious business, Sira. I'll be honest with ya, I don't like it one bit."

"What do you mean?"

"A necromancer possessing Athis? Elder artifacts that break time? The College of Winterhold? We are warriors, little one. This is not our field. The Companions try to stay away from magic."

"I'm not just a warrior, though. I'm Dragonborn. Call me pompous if you will, but I will have to figure out a way to enrol and investigate."

"If you must, you must. The real shame would be to run from your duty, right? Maybe Belethor has one of those scrolls?"

We both laughed at the thought. If asked, Belethor was likely to dye a normal scroll and then sell it for the price of Dragonsreach.

"How did you know about Athis?" I asked, with a more somber tone.

"He told me the other night. I think he needed to tell someone, or thought I wouldn't understand enough to mind. He's feeling horribly guilty about it, thinks you hate him and all. You know he's not close to the others."

"I don't hate him. I need to find a way to prove it to him, though. Should be the easiest task on my list, right?"

"Aye. Now, if you want something more hands-on, there's some Redguards in town looking for a woman."

My ale did not go through my nose, but it came close. It took Farkas a few seconds before realising why.

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant." He started blushing fiercely. "I didn't mean hands-on-you."

"You'll have to provide me with a better description before I decide where their hands are going." I kept laughing. Damn, it's been too long since my last visit to Falkreath.

"No, no. Be serious!"

"Oh, but you are lovely when blushing."

"That I am. They're looking for a specific woman. They were Alik'r warriors, they said, and were asking around the market stalls. A Redguard woman who's a fugitive, apparently. I thought maybe they could contract with us."

I'd seen Alik'r before once, back in Anvil – briefly and from a distance. They had a fierce reputation, so pickpocketing them had been out of the question.

"Could be worth it. The Alik'r are mercenaries themselves, buth highly reputed, so they may not be interested in subcontracting, though, unless they really need the help. Thanks for the tip, mate"

"You're welcome, little one. If you want to send them a message, please send Ria. Think of poor farmboy."

"Oh, I'd be thinking of him the whole time! What do you take me for?"


	13. You better not run

I spent three days in the stifling peace of Kodlak's, I mean, my studio, crunching numbers and arranging invoices neatly. No matter how things went once Vilkas returned, nobody would be able to accuse me of leaving a mess behind. Whatever little free time, I spent with Athis hitting the library, researching the fabled College of Winterhold – my only clue for locating the Elder Scroll.

If I could've, I would have postponed Vilkas' return two more days, or two more weeks. I needed his advice even more than I needed his assistance, but neither would come without a fair deal of scowls and fist-banging. We'd come a long way since our initial brawls, so much that Kodlak would've been proud – which made it all the harder.

The fact that I had begun caring about his opinion only made it worse.

I figured my best choice was to make sure we had a way to sublimate verbal aggression into more acceptable physicality, so the day after he returned, I asked him to train with me.

"Clearly I'm still unable to block properly with a two-handed weapon, and that's all your fault. Fix it." I said, as he joined me in the yard.

"That seems to imply that you know how to block with a one-handed weapon, which you don't." He retorted, right before taking his first unannounced swing.

"Right, but that's Njada's fault."

"So long as it's not yours… no, no, try switching your wrist like this. One swift movement."

"Of course, my opponent needs a chance to break it with just one blow."

"Only if your feet are slow, and yours aren't. Let's try again."

The dance continued for a while, with me repeatedly escaping death only because we were using wood. Eventually, on a stroke of genius, I managed to land a succession of blows and throw him off his feet.

"Right, I think I get the wrist issue now. I'm just used to always keep them facing opposite directions. Takes a while to adjust your reflexes, I guess." I extended my left hand to help him up.

"Practice does it. You should probably stick to your usual berserking flurry, if you're facing a delicate situation."

"I thought I wasn't supposed to overspecialise?"

He propped himself against the wall.

"No, overspecialisation is one thing – but for the curtain call, you should use your best act. Doesn't mean you shouldn't offer a decent side show."

"Ah, been hanging out with a bard on the road? Maybe a pretty doe-eyed girl sung of your courage?" I teased. He chuckled.

"One tried, but then got started with The Dragonborn Comes, so I stopped paying any attention."

"Of course. The real Dragonborn is getting it all. As long as we're on the topic of the mighty me and keeping to your best act, I don't know if you had any chance to talk to your brother yet?"

His face dropped slightly.

"I knew there was a hidden purpose behind training. He did mention you were desperate for directions."

 _And coming._ No, Sira, don't say that. Why am I even thinking about it? Damn Farkas and his Alik'r warriors.

"That damn gossip. He's right, though. I am a bit…stuck with the dragon business. My best act is not going to cut it."

I told him about my conversation with Paarthurnax and Farkas' reaction to the suggestion of visiting the College of Winterhold – but I left out any details about Aela's desire to join the Blades.

He rubbed his chin for several minutes after I finished talking. I sensed no mockery or disdain in him, for once, but his silence was unnerving.

"If the College of Winterhold is the only clue, then you'll have to enroll there. You do know magic, I believe? I've seen you use healing spells."

"Right. I also know some minor destruction spells – but very minor. Far from what would be required to enter the College, from what I've read. They test illusion and conjuration, that's far more complicated."

"Well, I suppose getting my brother to go as your Shield Brother will be of little use, then."

"Is that it, Legate Obvious?"

"Remember the first time Kodlak sent us on a job together? Remember what he told you before?"

"Of course I do. 'Try not to provoke Vilkas too much, don't fight fire with fire'."

"Right. I think the important part is the last one. Farkas is muscle, as am I, and you, and everyone here in a way. For a place like Winterhold, you need to broaden your skill set, not strengthen it – and you won't find that here. We're all a bit redundant, in a sense. We need to think outside the box."

"Right. And I feel like we'll go back to that issue shortly. In the meantime, any ideas on how to minimise the shame of being the first Harbinger to abandon the post?"

His face abruptly changed colour, and his heartbeat became deafening. Bad start.

"Abandon the post? That's your brilliant solution?" He hollered.

"Well, if you think about it…"

"No, you think! You shameless, irresponsible child... You ought to be fucking kidding me!"

Of course he would react like that. Remain calm, Sira. Don't engage.

Hold his stupid cheeks and mouth together so he'll let you speak.

"Listen to me for once in your life. This is not sustainable. The place is falling apart on me. It's getting hard enough to manage as it is, with very little sleep on my side and a mountain of work that doesn't get done." He struggled to release his face from my hands. "If I'm to go away for months to Winterhold – and then Divines know where, to hunt for an artifact that's been lost for centuries, then _someone else_ needs to run this place." He kept struggling, but mostly for the show. Stubborn arse. "I'll have Alduin to take care of afterwards, and let's face it, I may not come back from _that_ …"

"Shut up, Sira. What the fuck? Don't talk like that. You're not going to... just shut the fuck up. And don't you dare touch me, ever again."

In a way, his anger was touching – but of little use to me.

"Will you listen without being physically restrained then? I'm asking for your help because you're supposed to be the smart one here! Now, you can help me find a way to do this with as little dishonour for everyone involved as possible, or you can tell everyone that I'm a lazy coward and bask in being right. It doesn't matter, you still win, don't you see? You get rid of me and you become Harbinger. You'll have what you want."

"That's cruel of you, Sira."

"I'm cruel? Who's shutting the other up?"

"You want to leave _us_ just now that...As if all I want is to be Harbinger? You think me so petty?"

His voice trembled in anger. This could be going better.

"I think you think you'll do it better than me! And let's face it, you would! If I don't leave, I dishonour us all anyway by escaping my duty. You'll finally be free of my entitled ass and snobby jewellery!"

I was expecting him to challenge me to a duel or to throw a bottle at my head. Not to hug me.

"Oy! Surely we agreed no more physical restraints?" I asked, amazed.

"It's called a hug. You do it for friends. Now, you know I don't think like that anymore, do you?"

"I suspected." _But now I knew._ Had he ever called me friend before? "Will you help me find a way to have a home to come back to after the dragons are gone?"

"Of course. I'm sorry I reacted like that. This is why Kodlak decided I shouldn't be in charge, you know?"

"Right, but you were nonetheless next in line."

Is that my hair he's sniffing?

"However, as you said, there's no precedent for quitters. There is a precedent for a stand-in if the organization's allegiances are compromised, though, back from the schism of the Second era Interregnum."

I turned up to face him. Still under his hug, it placed our faces disturbingly close, but it was best not to acknowledge it.

"How do you know these things?"

"I'm the smart one here, remember? Either way, this was established during the prolonged war in Skyrim that preceded the Three Banners War. A Harbinger got called back to his native Hold and put in charge of an army. He left a stand-in to ensure not only the Companion's due management, but also their neutrality. This is actually how the Circle was created – as a way to guarantee the stand in would return the title once the original Harbinger came back."

"So I can leave a stand-in, then? And the Circle would make sure I'm still welcome here once it's all over?"

"I would have to look up the details, to make sure we meet whatever requirements for extreme situations."

"The return of Alduin and the end times may not be enough, you think?"

"Keep in mind the point here was to preserve the guild's neutrality. Paradoxically, if you simply were being called by the Legion, it would be simpler."

"Cursed be the day when civil war becomes the easy threat at hand. Either way, I'd rather not go over my relationship with the Legion right now."

Not when you're hugging me so tight that I can feel the way your breathing changed at that mention. When did this happen?

"Neither do I. So Aela, for example, could be your stand in, and we would need an extra member on the Circle, as it was stipulated it had to be at least three people left to restrain the stand-in's ambition…"

"Athis. It would have to be him. We'll need to send Erik on his final trial as soon as possible, and we'll raise Athis. Now, how is the stand-in chosen? Does the whole Circle vote or do I designate?"

"You designate. That's why I thought of Aela."

"Riiiiight, but I don't think she will want to do it." She wants to join the Blades, damn it. Probably not the right time to mention it – it was getting dark, and his arms were warm. "You do it."

"Sira, you don't have…"

"The plan was always to dump all the work on you anyway, if only out of spite." I smirked. "You shall drown in paperwork and think of me."

"Fine. As long as you return soon and release me."

"You're an odd one, aren't you? I almost want us to go back to yelling at each other."

"Now, about Athis…" He turned away from me, and my nose got overwhelmed with the scent of sadness. "I agree he's better qualified than Ria or Torvar… I just need to know. Is there really nothing going on between the two of you?"

"What, you think that's influencing my decision?"

"It could be interpreted like that, even if he is the most accomplished one of them."

I slipped away from his arms. Fuck the cold. Way to ruin the moment.

"What, would you rather raise Njada?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

His eyebrow began pulsing. Visceral reaction. Interesting. This is not really about a spot on the Circle.

"Nothing. I'm sorry I asked, it's none of my business."

"So?"

"So no, and it would be none of your business anyway. You said yourself he is the most accomplished one, anything beyond that is either a moot point or petty fixations."

"Petty fixations?"

"Shared by nobody else in Jorrvaskr, in case you haven't noticed. Unadultered paranoia."

The air grew tense again, taking us back to that day at Valtheim Towers. He sniffed at me, and I let him. I had nothing to hide from that frustrating brute, for once.

"Are you done? Can we go back to the next problem on the agenda? This hot piece of muscle needs to get accepted into the College."

"And it won't, not without a few months of training. We don't have a few months, sadly. What if you buy yourself a student, though?"

"Oh, I'm sure Belethor stocks one at his store. His sister, maybe."

"Not all mercenaries carry a sword and a shield. There are mage hirelings too. Let's say you hire one for the privilege to be his or her bodyguard while they study there."

"Why would an apprentice mage need a bodyguard?"

"Because we nords distrust magic and he's afraid of being assaulted by locals. Maybe he's also an Imperial and is wary of the Civil War? Could even come from a rich family and afraid of abduction? I don't know, you're the schemer, Sira."

"Yes, that surely sounds like my specialty, not yours. I suppose if I could impersonate a Jarl's mistress to find my way into the Thalmor Embassy, then I can be common sellsword for a few months."

A deep frown flashed on his face, but this time he had enough restraint to quickly switch to raised eyebrow.

"Really? That's what you were doing up in Solitude?"

"Aye, that. And shagging Athis, apparently. Give me some bloody credit, will ya? Now, you sound like you've already got a mage in mind."

"He seemed like a nice chap. Remember him? Marcurio, from Riften?"

"That's sweet. You must be dying to see him again. He liked you, that one."

"He has good taste, doesn't he?"

"No, clearly he's blind."

He placed his arm around me again.

"You know, you're starting to sound more like a Nord now. Let's hope you don't lose your new accent now, while you're with him. We'll have to work on that when you come back."

"We will, my Harbinger. Will I also be hit repeatedly in the head? It would speed up the process remarkably." I retorted, trying to sound as southern as possible.

"Only if you give me reason."

"I hope I never stop giving you reason."


	14. Tugging at my heartstrings

_Before we start, a quick note: I've taken some liberties with Tamriel's social mores, especially regarding regional attitudes towards homosexuality. Skyrim is the first game to include the marriage mechanic, and I found nothing about it regarding Oblivion and Morrowind. However, M'aiq the liar is fond of saying that "the people of Skyrim are more open-minded about certain things than people in other places" – which is believed to refer to either gay marriage, necromancy, or the availability of skooma._  
 _Either way, I'm going slightly AU here and determining that, even if gay marriage is legal all over the Empire, people in Cyrodiil frown upon it and are more likely to discriminate. A lot of Sira's personality is based on the fact that she comes from a place with much more rigid gender roles, so it fits. - Zizalada_

* * *

As much as I tried to keep the details of my upcoming quest to myself, enough of them knew that I trusted gossip would reach Falkreath in two weeks' time. If anyone thought me a coward for leaving, or questioned whether getting involved with _mages and such milkdrinkers_ was truly necessary, they chose to say nothing. They didn't need to know in order to make my departure feel unexpectedly painful.

Less than a year before, leaving Anvil forever had been a matter of selling anything too uncomfortable to carry and settle some accounts. Now, leaving Jorrvaskr for just a few months and to hand over the reins of its management felt more like leaving a couple of fingers behind. Jorrvaskr was home: it had my alchemy table, my trophies and mementos, stashes of valuables and candy conveniently hidden where I'd chosen. I could find my way from bed to breakfast table without opening my eyes, or follow my insticts to Aela's complicity, Farkas' laughter, or Athis' sarcasm.

Even Vilkas, a pompous arse who despises the very air I breathe, I could trust with my life. After months of sharing bloodlust, grief, insomnia, and responsibilities, I'd come to see the wolf as an ally; thanks to our last verbal spar, I knew now that he thought similarly of me. Genuine friendship didn't exactly catch me with both feet on the ground, I suppose.

Yes, that's must be it, that's why I found it so odd when he offered to come with me to Riften and help negotiate with the mage hireling. Not because I was expecting such an offer from Aela, who instead chose to pretend she had heard nothing regarding my departure.

At least, I was right about the mage: Marcurio was clearly smitten with Vilkas. It would've been cute, had he managed to hide his disappointment better after I showed up. Nonetheless, the man was brilliant and witty – not to mention handsome. If he had only been a tad bit taller, I'm sure we could've impersonated an elegant couple from the capital. It's not like looking classy in Riften is hard at all. As it was, the top of his head was slightly too visible from my point of view.

We found him exactly where we did the first time, at the Bee and Barb. After their joyful reunion and a couple of ales, Vilkas took off to the general goods store and left me to negotiate. He told us his standard fee was 500 septims, for up to a month. I offered him 350 with the guarantee of six month's work – but this was a fellow Imperial I was talking about. We settled on 400 a month, plus a fifth of any loot we would come across, so long as he looked after the replacement of his own gear.

"Oh, and for the record, I'm a wizard, not a pack mule. I'm not carrying your loot as well as mine."

"As if you could, with such puny skinny arms… suit yourself. I had some nice light armour waiting for you, enchanted to make your destructions spells stronger, but if you won't use it…"

We'd run across a dragon and a party of vampires on the way, which counted as a quiet trip for us. Vampire armour was highly expensive, and often didn't feel like armour at all, making it ideal for those who aren't used to moving around in scales or leather.

"Well, so long as it's light, I mean."

I grinned and handed him a package.

"Here you go. You'll be a very stylish pack mule, to be sure."

"Interesting material. I was expecting leather, to be honest. It looks sleek, and powerfully-enchanted too! I'll take it you didn't do it yourself?"

"Of course not."

"Wait, is this blood on the sleeve? Where on Nirn did you get this piece?"

"A dead vampire."

He didn't look shocked. Good, I can't handle people with weak stomachs.

"Right. Rule number one: don't ask too many questions."

"You clearly are smart. Let's go, Vilkas said we should meet him by the gates."

"Sure you can't convince him to come with us?"

And I thought farmboy was a needy admirer.

* * *

We only got a few hours of unremarkable travel – spiced up by a lively and only slightly indiscreet exchange of personal questions – before a group of Stormcloak soldiers determined our driver looked fit enough to fight for Skyrim's independence. Therefore, they decided it was their obligation to conscript both old Sigaar and his horse, leaving us with a free carriage just north of Mistwatch… so long as we pulled it ourselves, it seems.

After we were done pushing the cart to a secluded side-road, Marcurio gave me a knowing smile and wiped the sweat of his eyebrow.

"Right, I think here looks nice. You'd think they would've allowed us to keep the horse, at least?"

"They would've, had we been Nords. Well, they would've let me have it, and then carried you off to Windhelm as well."

"In that case, I had never been so glad to be called a treacherous milkdrinker. Sigaar didn't look too sad to be levied." Marcurio pointed out.

"If he doesn't have a family, maybe he saw it as a relief? Joining an army is a good defense against dragons, I suppose."

"What is it with you and dragons, Sira? Maybe he just hates his family."

I'd heard enough about his comfortable home at the capital, his well-read but authoritarian father, and his three frivolous older sisters to believe him to be an expert on family hatred.

I also knew he had been educated at the Temple throughout his childhood, and that he had spent two years in Solitude as a teenager. However, he had only returned three months ago to find a divided and terrorized country, which didn't look at all like the one from his childhood. It was going to be fun getting the full story out of him.

"Maybe his family are dragons! Now, where did I put my map?"

"Here. Looks like Windhelm's that way, right?" I kept staring at it, trying to calculate how much longer it would be. The day was hot.

"It's weird to think I came here looking for a more tolerant society." He added, with tangible sadness. From an Imperial perspective, Skyrim is rarely seen as a haven of tolerance and open-mindedness, but this was one area where the Nords had the upper hand.

I thought briefly of old Vincenza, whose large warehouses full of produce did not fully redeem her of the slurs she earned by having married Angelique. I did plenty of gigs for her over the years, and she was a generous tipper who claimed not to care two figs about "ignorant remarks". I'd been claiming not to give a fuck about being the hooker's daughter for years, so I sympathized with her stiff upper lip.

"I thought it was the cheap skooma that lured you" I said, just to break the tension, as I began walking.

"Oh, that definitely played a role. What about you? What drove an ambitious debutante such as yourself to come to this cold land to try her luck as a shield-maiden? Was it just Talos or was someone else involved?"

"What? First of all, why does everyone assume that _someone_ had to be the reason? That's incredibly unfair, you know? If I were a man, I bet I'd be awarded the assumption of my own motivations."

"Fair point. I apologise. So it was just Talos, then?"

"Talos? Why him at all?"

"Well, there's a civil war being fought on his name, and you _are_ wearing his amulet."

Ah, crap. The man was observant, at least. Pity his educated guesses lacked half the story.

I laughed dryly. "Fair point for you. But no, I'm not particularly fond of Talos. I found the amulet lying around, maybe three months ago? It's helped me open certain doors, especially in the deep countryside, where us southern folk are usually not welcome. To be perfectly honest, I'm not that much into any Divine, I'd rather take care of my own business."

That started a much deeper, but less personal theological discussion that lasted until Windhelm was in sight. Fortunately, there was still enough light to allow us to hire a new carriage to Winterhold straight away – skipping the need of having to enter that wretched city. Marcurio seemed very tired – he clearly was not used to such long treks, so as soon as he took off his boots I expected him to fall asleep. Instead, he had more pressing matters to discuss.

"Sira? Can I ask a question? A real, non-game question?"

"Ask whatever you want. Would you also like a foot rub?"

"I'm being serious here. It's about Winterhold, and what we're doing there." His usual confident demeanor was gone.

"Right." I hadn't been kidding about the foot rub, but oh well. Comes with sharing your life with a group of hardened swordsmen.

"I understand my employers can have many reasons to keep their full motives to themselves, but the terms of this contract are unusually weird. You'll see, I was only trying to save money in order to enrol in the College myself – and now two magic-hating Companions are paying my way in in exchange for the privilege of impersonating my bodyguard? At first I thought you were with the Guild, planning a heist, but you don't have the type for stealth. You're not Dark Brotherhood, are you? Or planning to destroy the College?"

"I take offense at you implication of not being stealthy. I'm not with the Brotherhood either. I'm definitely not trying to harm the College or anyone within. Happy?"

"Of course not."

"Ah, I forgot you're a fellow Imperial. So swearing on my honour won't do, eh?" He shook his head. "Well, like I said yesterday, I don't hate magic. My own knowledge of it is too basic for them to take me seriously, but I can heal and do some basic destruction. Now, promise not to laugh…"

"Hmmph." He nodded lazily, clearly still sceptical.

"I need their help to find an Elder Scroll."

He burst out laughing. "Seriously now, why on Earth would a Companion do with an Elder Scroll?"

"See? I knew you'd laugh at me." I pretended to be more hurt than I really was. "This is why people don't like mages here. You like to think yourselves better than everybody else."

"Wait, you're serious? Look at me!" We stared at each other, inches apart. "You want to find an Elder Scroll?"

"Yes."

My eyes didn't move, shrink or gave any signal of a lie, because I immediately smelled his trust.

"Well, you pay well, so you must have a good reason for this. I suppose this means if any hint appears that we must look elsewhere, I'll have to leave the college and follow you to some spike-filled pit or filthy skeever-den?"

"Yes, I believe you'd be contractually obligated to do that."

"That's a relief, then. Much closer to any of my previous jobs. Now, I suppose Companions must have their own secrets to protect… but it is safe to assume they wouldn't assign such a task to their newest recruit. You must be high in their ranks… in the Circle, perhaps?"

This boy clearly reads a lot, to have heard about the Circle.

"I'm their Harbinger, actually. And yes, it is the kind of job only I would do."

He stared at the road for a while, sighing loudly.

"Thinking of running away, Marcurio?" I asked.

"No. Definitely thinking I should've asked for more money though. Also, that I had foolishly assumed Vilkas to be the Harbinger."

"Foolishly, that's the right word. I'd forgotten how prejudiced we are back home against women wielding weapons. He's my second in command actually, he'll be holding the fort until I finish this task."

* * *

Winterhold was tiny, provincial, windy, bitterly cold, and incredibly distrustful of magic – basically, every stereotype about Skyrim lumped together. With the exception of the innkeeper, nobody seemed willing to chit chat with two Imperials clearly headed for the institution which had supposedly destroyed their way of life.

I could almost not blame them – the College's tall towers stood solid and intimidating in the middle of a deadly cliff, protected by a narrow, half-destroyed bridge illuminated by magicka pools. If it would've looked eerie enough on its own, the surrounding signs of devastation and the humbleness of the town made it a slap in the face.

The closest thing to the deference I'd grown accustomed to in Whiterun came from one of the guards, who was busy telling his colleagues about the latest battle between the mighty Dragonborn and a fire-spewing beast. They didn't seem to recognise the object of their gossip asking them for directions, the little bitches.

After a proper night of stewed rabbit and a dry bed, we finally headed for the College. Faralda, the Gatekeeper took one look at us, and maybe two looks at Marcurio's Fear spell, and welcomed us – I mean, him, into the College.

"And your escort here is…"

"Sira, milady. By the will of the Jarl of Whiterun, I am his housecarl. I go where he goes, to ensure his protection."

"Ah, I see. Your family must… have important business with Whiterun, I'm sure." Faralda turned back to Marcurio.

Right behind her, I nodded, signalling him to say yes.

"That we do. The rebellion and the town's history make it hard for an Imperial mage to travel safely."

She began walking up the big stone corridor, signalling at us to follow her. We were in!

"Well, I'd like to think the College can defend itself in these perilous times… and yet, it may be useful to have a local ally to serve as intermediary" She continued talking. "And with the amount of empty beds, I suppose Mirabelle will find no harm in her taking one as well, so long as the other students don't complain."

And I won't even have to stay at the inn!

She continued with the tour of the different halls and rooms before showing us to the Hall of Attainment, where students had their dormitories. They all had a chair, a bed, a dresser, and food lying around; mine didn't have a desk or shelf, and the decorations were less rich. Clearly Marcurio's not the first one to enrol with the help.

Oh, fuck, I'm the help.

As soon as Faralda left, I followed Marcurio into his room and dumped the Axe of Whiterun on his bed.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Your badge of ofice, in case anyone asks about your Thanehood. Just place it somewhere visible."

"Oh, wow. Fancy steel, eh? So they think I'm Thane?" He chuckled at the thought. "Sure you don't mind if I keep your trophy?"

"The Blade of Falkreath is prettier. Also, just so we're clear on this: I'm not fetching your meals."

"It speaks ill of you to default on an oath so quickly." Marcurio said, with a smirk that reminded me of Jarl Siddgeir.

* * *

I had not had the chance to talk to anyone else yet, although I had seen other robed students around the Hall. If the hours immediately following supper had been relatively animated, by 10 P.M. everything had fallen into the most absolute silence.

I stood by one of the dormitory's windows, watching the Ice Fields to the north.

For an instant, I was overjoyed at the possibility of starting over again, reinventing myself under completely different circumstances to those that had made me so successful in Whiterun. There was a whole new crowd to impress here, and even bigger challenges. This was the kind of opportunity that had always brought up my boldest side. The world has always been a vast place, endless like the ice fields, full of hamlets where I could find a whole new assortment of allies and victims.

My gaze turned west, and the sight of Ysgramor's tomb shook me. It shimmered just there, so close – thanks to aurora borealis above, it looked just a few yards away. The place where I'd saved a soul, earned forgiveness, nearly died, and wiped my sister's tears away. The place where I had promised to return soon, to release a brother from his own curse.

My wolf began tugging at my heartstrings, begging to be released, to howl, to go home.

 _ **End of Act II**_


End file.
